


An Abnormal Godfather

by BrilliantLady



Series: Perfectly Normal [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Chamber of Secrets, Gen, Grey Harry, Heir of Slytherin Harry Potter, Manipulative Dumbledore, Manipulative Harry, Pagan Festivals, Pureblood Culture, Pureblood Society, Religion, Sane Voldemort, Smart Harry, Snakes, Time Turner, Wizarding Traditions, magical theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-14 03:12:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 217,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7150730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantLady/pseuds/BrilliantLady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry finds juggling studying for his Muggle IGCSEs and his Hogwarts subjects harder than he expected, especially with the distraction of Sirius Black escaping Azkaban. What he really needs is more time… why does Hermione look so guilty when he says that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summertime and the Living is Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gains a new cousin, visits the Grangers, and goes to a Quidditch match.

**_June 1993_ **

Harry gained another cousin at the start of summer. Oh, not a Dursley, there were quite enough of them in the world already, even if Dudley _was_ starting to grow on him lately. Dudley had even been helping hide his pet snake from his aunt and uncle. No, Harry gained a new cousin when he’d run into Narcissa Malfoy at the St. Mungo’s two hundred galleon a plate fundraising dinner at the end of June.

He was attempting to make awkward small talk with some people four or more times his age at his assigned table in the Ministry ballroom as he sipped a Butterbeer, while they lingered over goblets of fine white wine while awaiting the arrival of the entrée. He tugged nervously at the tight collar of his dress robes – the gold embroidery on the black fabric looked lovely, but made the edge of the high collar a little scratchy where it kept rubbing against his neck and chin. It really was a bit small now – he’d bought it on his first visit to Diagon Alley, and that was two years ago now. He felt glad he’d dressed up for the occasion, though – everyone present was either wearing formal robes or a fancy outfit with a vest and cape, or an old-fashioned gown. And there was not a single person there anywhere near his own age, much to his embarrassment. He wished the person at St. Mungo’s he’d been corresponding with had warned him of that. He guessed they were just too keen at the thought of securing another donor for the privately-funded hospital, not that he could do that much to help them while he only had access to his trust vault.

When the pale-haired witch in a tight-waisted mushroom-coloured evening gown with puffed sleeves stopped by his table, he assumed at first that she was another fan coming to congratulate him on his parents dying (well, not that they said or meant it like that, but that’s how he took it). Or perhaps someone who was going to hint about how they knew about his talent as a Parselmouth, and how impressed they were about that, and did Harry know how important and powerful and pure-blooded they themselves were?

“Mr. Potter,” the witch said politely, with a small curtsey, “it’s a pleasure to meet you at last cousin, my son Draco has told me so much about you.”

“Oh! Mrs. Malfoy,” he said, standing up politely and bowing as he gave her silk-gloved hand a polite peck, “it’s a pleasure to meet you too, ma’am. And thank you again for the Christmas gift; Storm loves his enchanted rocks.”

“Is he here this evening?” she asked curiously. Harry glanced nervously at the people at his table watching their conversation intently.

“Well ah, yes, but in my pocket. I didn’t want to upset anyone. But it’s not safe for him at home without me – the Parkinson family’s gift was a lovely one, but I’m not really supposed to have a pet at home, and they certainly wouldn’t approve of a snake. Especially not a magical one.”

“Are you saying you have your pet snake with you? Here?” asked an elderly witch at his table. She seemed more fascinated than alarmed, which was reassuring.

“Yes, I’ll show him to you if you like?”

Storm was happy to escape the smothering confines of Harry’s robe pocket and be carefully passed around for admiration of his beautiful shimmering rainbow scales. And Harry was thrilled that people didn’t panic at his quietly hissed instructions to Storm to behave. One old man nervously excused himself to mingle elsewhere, and another refused to hold Storm, but those were the worst reactions he got.

“So may I call you Harry, cousin? For my husband has no objections to my claiming the relationship between our families. I was Narcissa Black before I joined hands with Lucius – my great-aunt Dorea, your grandmother, used to come to our family celebrations all the time. We are second cousins.”

Harry hesitated, but only briefly. While Draco’s father made him nervous, she seemed nice enough, and claiming a relationship really was mostly just a polite formality (unless done by the Head of a family), not used for much except to help build alliances or acknowledge that you were too closely related to marry. And the latter certainly wasn’t a consideration in this case!

“Certainly, cousin Narcissa,” he said politely. She smiled delightedly at him, and as he reclaimed his snake, she offered to furnish him with some introductions to various people attending the event. She apologised to him as they wandered off to mingle that neither her husband nor son were attending the event on this “evening of the summer solstice”, with a meaningful look.

“Just the two of them? Draco doesn’t have any siblings, does he?” Harry asked curiously.

Narcissa looked sad and wistful for a moment. “I regret to say he does not.” She forced her face into a smile again. “So what is your design in coming hence this evening, what goal are you trying to accomplish?”

 _She must have been a Slytherin_ , Harry thought. “Uh, well it seemed like a good cause, mostly,” he said. “Because unlike in the Muggle world, it seems that the hospitals here rely entirely on donations, and on fees charged to patients, to fund everything. And I’m also interested in eventually becoming a Healer.”

“Well then,” she smiled, “let me introduce you to my dear friend Healer Miriam Strout, who works in the Janus Thickey Ward, and the very charming Healer-in-Charge Hippocrates Smethwyck, who holds a very prestigious position in running the ‘Dangerous’ Dai Llewellyn Ward, and whom many say is next in line to take over St. Mungo’s when the current Warlock retires.”

Harry didn’t really mind the motherly Healer Strout, who clucked over him being at the event without his guardians, and worried about his snake. But he got on better with Healer Smethwyck, who was well used to odd creatures, as creature-induced injuries were his ward’s area of specialisation. Storm also approved of the latter Healer the most, who was happy to fearlessly admire his brilliant scales up close.

“Now that’s a creature I’ve only seen in books,” he said, holding Storm up and turning him about so the light glinted off his scales, bringing out the bright rainbow shimmer. “There was an interesting case I heard about where a champion racehorse lost a leg to one of these beautiful snakes. The jaws clamped down, you see, and since it’s illegal to kill the Wonambi and due to the difficulties of regrowing limbs severed by magical creatures, they eventually... Well, perhaps that’s _not_ a story to be told over dinner!” he laughed boisterously. “My wife’s always telling me off for that sort of thing. To cut a long story short, they regrew the leg just fine, and the snake wasn’t harmed.” Storm, unsurprisingly, loved the partial story when Harry translated it for him.

Healer Smethwyck told him if he didn’t end up being a Healer, with a talent like that there’d be a grand opportunities for him harvesting snake venom and parts for potions ingredients.

As a bell rang to announce the start of the feast proper, Harry gave a polite bow in farewell, which Healer Smethwyck returned after a startled smile. Narcissa promised to come and find him after dinner, which he found he didn’t mind at all.

There was a rather mysterious meal full of unidentifiable foods that required far too many forms of cutlery, including a dessert of sugary flowers that floated in the air above your plate and bobbed up and down while you tried to catch them with little silver tongs. They stopped trying to float once you dipped them in the berry sauce. Thank goodness for the book on dining and party etiquette that Mrs. Parkinson had recommended he buy back in first year, or he would’ve been completely lost.

After dinner, Narcissa smugly reported to him that the Minister for Magic would like to be introduced to him, if he didn’t mind. Harry wasn’t keen on the society photographer who hovered to take yet _more_ photos of him, but was very interested in the opportunity to meet the Minister. And Minister Fudge was very interested to meet him, or at least be photographed shaking his hand.

“You’re most welcome to stop by my office if you want to come and take a tour of the Ministry some time, Harry!” he said, still shaking his hand.

Harry knew an opportunity when he heard one. He just hoped he wouldn’t stuff it up. “That would be marvellous, thank you so much, sir! I’m hoping to visit the Ministry soon, Minister Fudge,” he said, with a polite smile. “It would be good to finally sort out reclaiming Potter Cottage for the Potter family.”

“Ah, yes, one of our most popular historical landmarks,” smiled Fudge. “Your family’s sacrifice has not been forgotten, I assure you. It’s much beloved by the public. Why there’s a Knight Bus special tour that stops there every week, simply packed with well-wishers some days.”

“And the Cottage was left to me explicitly in my parents’ will,” Harry said, glancing at the society photographer who was continuing to take photos. “It’s been difficult sorting things out with the Ministry administration!” he laughed. “They’ve been simply marvellous, really, but all that red tape is hard for a boy like me to navigate. I’m not even allowed to make repairs to the roof, let alone claim it properly. A bit of attention from _you_ Minister, and I’m sure it could all be sorted out much faster. I’d really appreciate the assistance if you can spare the time from your busy schedule.”

Fudge kept smiling, though perhaps a shade less genuinely, and dropped Harry’s hand at last.

“Oh, you poor thing,” cooed Narcissa, smoothing a hand comfortingly over Harry’s tidy hair. “Of _course_ you want to reclaim your parents’ old cottage. The _previous_ administration and your parents’ executor made a rather singular call there, didn’t they? I must admit I had never thought about the matter before! But I’m sure Minister Fudge will sort out such a _grievous_ mistake now he’s aware of it too. Why to think, the Boy-Who-Lived, an _orphan_ , his family home _stolen_ from him by a mountain of paperwork!”

Harry spotted her approach, which he hadn’t thought of or considered before - people usually never felt sorry for him about anything so it wasn’t a technique he used much. But she knew the Minister better than he did, and thus probably knew what would work best. He looked up at Narcissa with calculatedly big wide sad eyes and a tremulous smile. “It’s hard sometimes, knowing that I don’t really properly own my parents’ home like they wanted me to. I think they’d be sad about that.”

The society photographer for the _Daily Prophet_ was scribbling some notes down on a roll of parchment, and Fudge’s smile became even more tight and thin.

“Well don’t fret another minute, I’ll sort this out, Harry,” Fudge said firmly. “The wizarding world owes you a great debt, and I’d be happy to help correct the errors of the _previous_ administration in this matter.”

Harry made appropriately grateful and flattering comments to the increasingly happier and relieved Minister, and later politely and quietly let his new cousin know how much he appreciated the assistance.

“It’s quite all right, dear,” she said softly. “The Ministry does tend to stick its nose into matters where they’re really not _entitled_ to, to interfere in the private lives of citizens. They do need to be reminded occasionally that they shouldn’t try to seize so much power; it wasn’t what the Ministry was established for. I truly relished the opportunity to help. If I might enquire without giving offence – who was your parents’ executor? For I must say the whole business seems poorly handled.”

“Well, it was going to be Sirius Black, but… you know. It ended up being Dumbledore.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Ah. Interesting.”

***

Harry was delighted to receive an official letter from the Ministry only a few days later, noting the revocation of Potter Cottage’s status as a historical landmark. There was also a small package with four additional amulets enclosed, permitting access through the wards, which were apparently all the ones remaining. The letter explained that the existing wards would remain up as a courtesy, but he was of course welcome to modify or dispel them if he wished, and that naturally no further Ministry funds would apply for house maintenance or warding.

Harry did a little happy dance in his room, with a bewildered snake the only witness. This was the _best holiday ever_.

The first week of July also saw Harry visiting the Grangers, before they left for their holiday in France. With the knowing approval of his aunt and uncle, even!

“Dentists, you say?” his uncle had rumbled. “If they make regular trips overseas they must be doing well for themselves. And they got in a fight with _them_ in that ‘Alley’ place, and then stalked off? You’ve only met them the once?”

Harry affirmed the details that he’d already told him.

“Well, they sound like an acceptable family to associate with. I’ll even drive you there, if it’s not too far,” he offered generously. Or perhaps not so generously, if you allowed for the fact it would save him Harry’s train fare _and_ give him an opportunity to show off his new company car to a well-off couple.

So after a phone call to confirm his visit, Uncle Vernon indeed followed through with his promise, and dropped Harry off on Saturday morning for a weekend stay with the Grangers (who offered to bring him home on Sunday evening). It went amicably enough, though his uncle lost interest in socialising once he realised the Grangers had no connections in the construction industry. Hermione was beyond excited, and her parents were happy to have one of her friends visit for the first time in years, apparently.

“I’m only sorry we can’t host you for longer, Mr. Darcy,” said Mrs. Granger teasingly. “But we leave for Paris on Monday, so this was the most we could manage.”

“Come on Harry, I want to show you my room!” Hermione said, bouncing excitedly, and Harry followed obediently. Harry teased her about the excessive number of books she had, triple-stacked on her bookshelf and still overflowing, and complimented her on the beautiful furniture she had (it was all so _nice_ and clean, just like in Dudley’s room). He also admired her new pet – a barn owl.

“Isn’t she beautiful!” cooed Hermione. “Who’s a beautiful and clever owl? It’s you!” she said, ruffling the feathers around its head gently, which it seemed to enjoy. “Look at that little white heart shape around her face, isn’t she sweet? And her golden-brown spotty feathers!” The owl nibbled at Hermione’s hair affectionately.

“She’s great! What did you call her?”

“Diana, after the Roman moon goddess of the hunt. Graeco-Roman names are especially popular in wizarding culture, and I thought that one suited her the best. Oh, she was _so_ happy I bought her. She was stuck inside this _tiny_ little cage at _Eeylops Owl Emporium_ , and I wanted an owl anyway, so I simply had to buy her. And only ten galleons!”

Harry listened patiently to Hermione lecture all about barn owls, and why you should never poison mice, and how Neville was going to watch her owl while the Grangers went to France.

“Can I introduce Storm to her, so they make friends?” he asked, when he got a chance.

“You brought your snake?” she asked, startled.

“Yes, I have to hide him at the Dursleys, and he would’ve been miserable hidden in my wardrobe for the weekend without being brought out for some light and air. Dudley caught me letting him have a slither around the garden last week, but he’s promised not to dob. He thinks a pet snake you can talk to is ‘wicked’, even if I do have a ‘girly-looking’ one.”

After their sleepy pets were acquainted, Hermione helped Harry improvise a temporary tank for Storm to nap in out of a cardboard box, some dirt and leaves from the Grangers’ garden, and a dessert bowl filled with water.

“Is it just my imagination, or is he a lot bigger than when you got him?”

“Oh, he’s definitely grown. He’s shed his skin a couple of times.”

They spent the morning out at the movies watching “Groundhog Day”, which they both agreed was fabulous, and ate far too much greasy popcorn. The afternoon wasn’t what Harry would consider a highlight of his visit, but was politely appreciated all the same – a visit to the dental surgery for a free check-up. Luckily his teeth were in good condition, though they did nag him that he needed to brush twice and day and floss regularly (he got a free toothbrush and toothpaste to help with that). They also said he should have dental check-ups every six months. That seemed crazily often to Harry, but he guessed a dentist would be pretty biased on the topic. Even Dudley didn’t go that often.

On Sunday the family played Trivial Pursuit and Scrabble together, and Harry marvelled to see Hermione’s parents take it in laughing good humour when they were beaten at something, even by Harry. They were _really nice_. They didn’t even let him help with the washing up! And when he and Hermione were distracted at lunchtime on Sunday chatting about Harry’s correspondence course results he’d just gotten (As for Maths and Science, and a B for English) and about what he was doing next, and forgot to make themselves some food, her mother brought them both some ham and salad sandwiches and some sliced apples and oranges.

“I’m very sorry, I forgot to make us something,” worried Harry anxiously. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s quite alright,” Mrs. Granger smiled. “You’re our guest, you don’t need to make your own lunch. Just bring the plates to the kitchen when you’re done.”

He let out a big sigh of relief, which got him a laugh from Mrs. Granger, and an odd look from Hermione.

“Would you really get in trouble for that at home?” she asked, after her mother had left the room.

“Yeah. Well, not for forgetting to make myself something - I’d just have to skip lunch. But if I was supposed to cook for others and I forgot, I’d be in trouble for sure.”

“Your family is weird.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Your family’s great! Want to swap?” he asked cheekily.

Hermione laughed.

Harry was sorry he had to leave that evening – it would have been nice to stay longer.

“I’ll see you at Neville’s at the end of the holiday! Don’t forget about our H.E.L.P. Society meeting!” she yelled, waving goodbye enthusiastically as her father pulled out of the driveway.

“I won’t forget! See you then!” he called, waving goodbye though the open car window.

***

Hermione wasn’t the only friend he kept in contact with over summer. Neville sent an occasional owl, which he was invited to borrow to send his own correspondence with, if he wanted. Draco sent some notes on basic Occlumency exercises, all about what Muggles would call meditation, and what Draco called “calming the mind and getting in touch with your magical nature”. He also sent a _Daily Prophet_ clipping of his mother and Harry with the Minister at the St. Mungo’s benefit, featured in the society column. Daphne and Pansy chattered about their holidays. Tracey didn’t seem especially interested in corresponding for whatever reason, so he only heard from her very rarely. And Harry wrote back to them all, as well as to his many assorted other correspondents on an increasingly large list. He’d had to switch to writing letters on notepaper, having run out of parchment – he hoped the traditionalists wouldn’t mind. At least the accusatory letters accusing him of being the Heir of Slytherin and petrifying people had finally ceased. He still had a few people sure he was the Heir, but those still writing to him about that were approving of that rumoured status.

Millicent said her father didn’t approve of her writing to young men. So when Harry decided that out of all his friends (not counting the erstwhile Ronald Weasley) that Millicent would probably be the most likely to be interested in his extra tickets to an Appleby Arrows Quidditch match, he wrote to her father to invite her and a parent or chaperone to accompany him, and that Millicent was invited _purely_ as a friend of course. He didn’t want a repeat of that embarrassing business with the Farley family.

Millicent, being a big Quidditch fan, was thrilled to be invited, and brought along her father and Daphne (who wasn’t a big Quidditch fan, but apparently who would “never forgive me” if she wasn’t invited, according to Millicent).

The team’s manager, Jacob Williams, was thrilled to finally see Harry at one of the Appleby’s matches (especially given they won!), wearing his pale blue Appleby scarf with the whizzing silver arrows, and sitting in their supporter’s section (to a happy round of handshakes and bows from fans all around him, which Harry endured with increasingly practised ease). Jacob gave them all a tour of the small stadium after the game finished, and they got to shake the player’s hands. Millicent was _thrilled_ , and babbled happily about how she wanted to be a Beater, and got a signed poster of her own to keep, as well as a lightly damaged Beater’s bat autographed by the team’s two Beaters.

“We go through so many of those in a season, you wouldn’t believe it! The Bludgers are even tougher than those you have at Hogwarts matches, and there’s stricter controls on what kind of enchantments you can put on the bat,” explained one of the Beaters.

“They say I have got a good build for a Beater,” the blocky girl later said proudly to her father. Compliments on her plump figure were pretty rare, in her experience. “They said if you’re a thin wisp of a thing you can be knocked right off your broom. I’m going to exercise to build up my arms – you have to be strong to be a Beater.”

Daphne hovered, interested but not fascinated, while Harry chatted to the team’s Seeker about whether there were similar changes to professional grade Snitches, and what kind of a time commitment it took to be a professional Quidditch player (surprisingly to him, it was pretty much a full-time job).

After an exchange of farewells, including to the very stern-looking and watchful Mr. Bulstrode, Harry headed home on the Knight Bus. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We read at the start of PoA that Harry has been on holidays for 5 weeks before his 13th birthday on the last day of July, therefore, the summer holiday starts roughly at the beginning of the last week of June. (June 21st is the solstice in 1993.)
> 
> With thanks to LokiFirefox for the inspiration for Narcissa’s manipulation of the Minister. Thanks to Narcissa’s hints/threats, the Minister has narrowly escaped being featured in an article in the Prophet titled, “Orphaned Boy Hero Made Homeless by Dumbledore and Ministry!”  
> Thanks again to my Britpicker, Jennybeth98, for all her help!  
> 


	2. Elves are Weird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns some languages, plans out his schooling, and buys a very grateful house-elf.

**_July, 1993_ **

In the second week of July, Harry stopped by the office of the _Euro-Glyph School of Extraordinary Languages_ in Diagon Alley to learn Latin and French (one less subject to have to cram for Dudley’s sake, and an easy GCSE to meet his modern language requirement). It was an international wizarding language school with branches all over the world, including London. Harry hoped it was as good as Mr. Crouch had said.

The bored-looking young man at the front counter straightened up when the shop bell chimed to show there was a potential customer, and he was very happy to start a spiel about how vital communication was for both social and business advancement. He was even _happier_ when he heard that Harry Potter, yes _the_ Harry Potter, had already received a mailed brochure from them and even after reviewing the very high prices was still interested in signing up to learn some languages.

“Though I had heard from your regular client, Mr. Crouch, that some discounts might be available?” he asked with a polite hint. His vault was emptying faster than he liked, with a payment for the “reallocation expenses” of a house-elf (Dobby!) set aside for a transfer at the start of next week. It was great news, but more expensive than he’d thought to buy a house-elf – he needed to budget more if he could.

After a little haggling, with some hinting that he would likely be a very interested repeat customer once he attained his majority and his family vault was accessible, the school’s salesperson settled on a reduction of cost for the first language from 1,000 Galleons to 800, and only a flat 500 Galleons for any subsequent languages (a nice reduction from their usual sliding scale that started at 800 for additional languages after the first).

The salesperson did give a good spiel about how advantageous it would be to learn Mandarin and Gobbledegook, and upon questioning him about his electives, recommended Ancient Egyptian for a student of Ancient Runes. Harry wavered, and decided he would really like to add something that would give him an edge in that subject.

“Fantastic!” the man said, adding it to his form. “Now, before you sign, I must emphasize that this is a secret technique, and actions _will_ be taken should you attempt to steal or copy our proprietary process.”

“I wasn’t going to-”

“-No of course not, I just have to say this to everyone. Now, please note that the potion you will need to drink will feel odd, like you’re swallowing a worm in the middle of the drink. You must _not_ bite it, vomit, or spit out the potion. There are _no_ refunds for your course if you do so, and you will _not_ be able to learn the language signed up for. A Stomach Soother Potion is available at an additional cost of 5 Galleons, if requested due to nausea.

“A discount is available for Occlumens who can ‘settle’ the languages themselves – this will not apply in your case – and a Legilimens will attend you immediately after consuming the potion. They will act strictly professionally, and will only help you lock in your new language, so it doesn’t get mixed up with any others you know, including English.

“It is _very important_ to note that you need to refrain from spellcasting for a minimum of three days after learning a language or languages.”

“Alright.”

“That means no spells, no wand use, no Apparition, no Floo travel.”

“Sure,” said Harry. “I’m underage anyway, and I live with Muggles.”

“Yes, but no spellcasting even at your pure-blood friends’ houses, either, or with someone else’s wand. Or in Diagon Alley. That means no spell to tie your shoes, no making a light first thing in the morning so you can see, no tapping your wand on a parcel to unshrink it – nothing. It will interfere with the process, and _no refund_ will apply.”

“I get it!” said Harry, who was starting to get a bit irritated. He knew what “no spellcasting” meant.

The man sighed. “They all say that, and then we get a lot of people back here trying to demand a refund because washing the dishes or hailing the Knight Bus ‘doesn’t count’. We'd get a lot more business if it wasn't for that necessary rule. Please sign here to affirm that you understand the condition.”

As the salesman made some Floo calls to summon their Legilimens and to get the correct potions brought over, Harry made a trip to Gringotts. He was pleased to spot a pile of crisp Muggle fifty pound notes deposited by the Finch-Fletchley family, and after grabbing his gold (and the Muggle money to send to Oxford Home Schooling for the upcoming year’s fees) Harry returned to the office to learn his languages. It was just as disgusting a potion as they’d made it sound, and as Harry felt the first “worm” slide down his throat like a long piece of soft spaghetti, along with a truly vile tasting potion, he frantically jingled his belt pouch full of coins and gestured at the pale green Stomach Soother potions on the desk, lips tightly closed so he wouldn’t spit anything up. The creamy mint potion was a great relief to his system. It took an hour’s attention from the Legilimens to “settle” French in his mind – it was a very odd and uncomfortable feeling, like someone was rummaging around inside his head, and it gave him a bit of a headache. He took a Stomach Soother in advance of each of the next two potions, and after three hours he was free to go. After a little more shopping for birthday presents for friends, he headed home – on the train rather than the Knight Bus, lest it ruin the still-fragile magic languages.

***

Harry sat companionably with Dudley at the kitchen table, while Dudley watched the brand-new television that his parents had got him as a ‘welcome home for the summer’ gift, and worked on his paperwork for Oxford Home Schooling. With his results from last year in, it was time to pick his GCSEs for next year. Well, technically his IGCSEs, the internationally accredited version with less or no coursework assessments – mostly just final essays or exams.

“You have to start them already?” asked Dudley, during an ad break. “We don’t have to pick them at Smeltings until the end of Year Nine. Though they’ve given us all a talk about our options, so we can think it over this year. Maybe pull some grades up,” he scowled.

“Well, the correspondence school lets you start them when you’re thirteen. Which I will be really soon. Since I’ve got to juggle magical _and_ regular subjects, I figure it’s best to get a head start. I won’t be able to work on them full-time like you will be. It’s going to be tough. I just don’t know what to pick!” he whined. “I’ve got French and Latin locked in, ‘cause I learnt a wizarding shortcut for languages, so those are going to be dead easy, and French will meet the modern languages component. Maths, Chemistry and Biology of course, and I guess English too. Human Biology maybe to start next year after I’ve done some basic Biology already. But I don’t know if that’s enough! Or too much.”

Dudley counted on his fingers, his lips moving quietly as he tried to remember all the subjects Harry had said. “That’s six, no seven subjects. That’s what Smeltings has as a minimum, though we have to do a short course in Religious Education too.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Well, English, Maths and French. I have to do those. And I have to pick a Science subject. I hate Science. What’s the easiest one, do you think?”

“For you?” Harry thought about it briefly. “Biology, for sure. Physics and Chemistry both have way too much maths, and so does the ‘Science’ subject that’s a mix of all of three. And I can help you best with Biology because I’ll be really concentrating on it.”

“Sounds good!” said Dudley, chin wobbling as he nodded decisively. “I’m also thinking of doing the computing subject if I do well this year, and I really want to do Media, Film & TV Studies-”

“-That’s a real subject?!”

“I know! Awesome, right?!”

“You will _so_ ace that subject,” Harry said, encouragingly. “I’d be total rubbish at it.”

Dudley puffed up proudly at Harry’s praise. “I haven’t decided on the last one. Maybe History, or Business Studies. Maybe you could pick one of them too, and then we’d match. Like with Biology.”

“Hmm,” said Harry thoughtfully. “I know you did pretty well in it, but I didn’t really love History. And it’s even _more_ boring at Hogwarts, believe it or not. Business Studies sounds interesting, and maybe useful,” he said, thinking of the big piles of coins awaiting him in his family vault, and the argumentative goblins who managed Gringotts. “Why are you thinking about that one, Dud?”

“I’m thinking of being a real estate agent. When I’m older of course. Our careers counsellor said I’ve got a ‘lion’ personality type and she thought it’d suit me real well. Either that or professional boxing. You don’t need to go to university for either of those jobs too, which is good. I could do both, maybe.”

After a bit more scribbling and pondering, and a phone call to Oxford Home Schooling to chat about what Business Studies entailed, Harry eventually settled on his subjects.

French, Latin, English, Maths and Biology for Third Year. And Chemistry, Human Biology, and Business Studies to start in Fourth Year. Eight subjects - he didn’t want to do _less_ subjects than Dudley. That would be embarrassing. Hopefully he could pass the tests for the languages at the end of the year – it would be early, but shouldn’t seem _too_ unusual. With luck and a lot of work he should be able to take the tests for English, Maths and Biology at the end of Fourth Year, and then the last three late-starting subjects at the end of Fifth Year. That way he’d only have three additional subjects to have to juggle in his OWL year. Three extra correspondence course subjects hadn’t been so bad this past year, though he was still grumpy about getting a B in English, when he’d been trying for an A. Some stuff was just harder without a teacher, and he hadn’t been able to do phone consultations with the school’s tutor, like most kids would have been able to.

Anyway, if his plan all turned out to be too hard, he could spread out his IGCSEs more, and go to a Sixth Form College after graduating Hogwarts to get his A-levels. But he was hoping to cram them into his Sixth and Seventh Years at Hogwarts. He had his eye on Biology, Chemistry, and Maths and Statistics, all of which were great for getting into medicine at most universities if your grades were good enough. And maybe some languages, now that he felt like an instant expert in two of them, though he’d see if the magic held up to IGCSE standard tests first. Harry sighed. It would still be a lot of work. Mind you, nothing in life was easy, and if he wanted to study medicine at university he’d just have to make it work somehow.

He finished filling out the paperwork to mail out the next morning, and went up to his room to switch his focus to his Hogwarts homework. He’d finished the essay on Shrinking Potions, but still had to write that ridiculous essay for Binns: “Witch-Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless – discuss.” He was quite angry about it, actually, and was planning to supplement it with some information from Muggle textbooks from the library about just how many people had _died_ in that horrific era (if he could find some). Did Muggle lives not _count_? Wizards only saw the attacks as “pointless” because of the _alleged_ low number of witches and wizards killed. Statistics which he found extremely dubious in the first place. A wizard or witch without their wand was pretty much helpless. And what if they were arrested by being awoken from their beds? It’s not like you held your wand ready to fight while you slept. What about kids with no training? And it only got worse in the fifteenth century and onwards.

He jotted down a note in his study planner (in invisible ink of course) that he wanted to take Potions and Transfiguration up to Es this year. They were core subjects that you needed for a Healer apprenticeship. DADA to be E or O depending on what the new teacher was like, he noted down. Charms and Herbology to stay as Os, Astronomy to stay an A, History to stay an E or drop back to an A again. He hated that subject a little more every year. Thank Merlin for Millicent’s source who supplied them both with old exam papers. Finally, for his new electives of Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes he would take whatever he could get – hopefully an A or above. He’d realised that the Dursleys were perfectly fine with not knowing the details about his Hogwarts studies. He’d told them that he’d done better than last year, but “not straight As”, and that was that. His Aunt Petunia had asked specifically about his correspondence course results though, and didn’t seem to mind him getting two As, since it was “only three subjects, not like Dudders with a full workload.” The important things, Harry noted, seemed to be that he didn’t get perfect grades, and that Dudley came out of it all somehow looking smarter than him. Which would be easier if Dudley actually _was_ smart. At least he put more effort in than he used to; Smeltings demanded it, and his mummy wasn’t able to charge into the school every couple of weeks to wave away his poor work and explain how _gifted_ children needed special allowances of more time, and appreciation for more “creative” answers on tests.

***

“ _I’m bored here in thiss cupboard_ ,” complained Storm. “ _You promised we were going out. Are we going out yet?”_

“ _I'm sorry - I hate keeping you in there too._ _I thought you’d sssleep the day away?”_

His snake rose up on his tail, trying to get over the edge of the tank. “ _No. I want out. It feelss dull here. I can hardly hear the sssongss._ ” Harry guessed he wasn’t enjoying the magic-less environment. He hadn’t even been able to tap Storm’s rocks to warm them up the past few days, as he was banned from all magic use while his new languages settled into his mind. Of course, now he was finally allowed to again he’d actually _forgotten_ , which he didn’t want to admit to his poor snake. At least the weather was nice and warm in summer – his snake didn’t need the extra heat.

“ _Alright, we’ll go out_ ,” he said. “ _Sssomewhere with magic. But you’ll have to ssstay hidden_.”

Dudley offered to cover for him as usual, but Harry said he wanted to actually tell his aunt and uncle where he was going, for a change.

“I’m off to the Ministry for Magic today,” he announced over breakfast, and Dudley rolled his eyes as his father spluttered.

“What do you need to go there for? You’re not getting school books already, are you?”

“No, the list hasn’t arrived yet. Remember the house-elf from last year that was causing trouble?”

“That _creature_ that some evil wizard sent to ruin my dinner party?”

“Dreadful thing,” chimed in his aunt. “Vernon still got the contract, mind you!”

“Well, it’s being awarded to me in compensation for its actions against our family,” said Harry.

“Why to _you_?”

“Do you want it to come _here_? It could help with the housework.”

“No!”

“Well there you go then. That’s usually why Mu… ordinary people don’t usually have house-elves,” shrugged Harry. “Also, they’re odd little creatures, and thrive best in a magical household. Anyway, I just thought you might like to know, since you asked at Christmas. That the owners are losing the house-elf, and it won’t be bothering you again.”

“And you won’t bring _it_ here?” Vernon checked suspiciously.

“Certainly not. If _you_ don’t want it here Uncle Vernon, I’ll find it a home elsewhere. I already thought that might be best. You won’t even have to see it. But I might be gone a while, sorting it out.”

His uncle looked thoughtful. “I can cook dinner for a change,” Aunt Petunia said to his uncle. “Best he takes his time so _it_ doesn’t show up again.”

“I guess you’ll need some money for the train,” sighed his uncle, grudgingly forking out ten pounds. And then, with a little more thought and an internal struggle, another ten pounds. “Don’t waste it – that has to pay for your return trip too, boy.” Dudley whined for some money too, and got twenty pounds of his own with an indulgent smile.

“Who was behind it all, then?” his uncle asked.

“What?”

“The creature – who was the man who sent it?”

Harry hadn’t thought that part through. Still, the truth would do. “Uh, Lucius Malfoy.” It wasn’t like he was ever going to show up at Privet Drive, nor would the Dursleys mingle with witches and wizards unless forced to. “It’s said he hates Muggles. Ordinary people without magic. They said it wasn’t clear if he sent it, or if the elf just snuck away on its own accord. Either way, he loses his house-elf.”

“Hah!” Vernon was smugly satisfied. “That’ll teach him.”

Harry took his backpack, stuffed with a hat, cloak, a couple of snacks, and a napping snake, and saved his money by hailing the much cheaper and faster Knight bus once he was a block away from Privet Drive.

A nauseating ride later, and he bemusedly entered the Ministry through a phone-booth, thanks to the conductor Stan’s helpful tips. He had a house-elf to buy! Though they didn’t like the word “buy”. The Ministry preferred “compensation”, “brokerage fee”, “reallocation expenses”, and other such euphemisms. Harry had been making notes for their H.E.L.P. Society meeting at the end of August.

The Ministry was bustling when Harry arrived shortly before eleven o’clock for his appointment at the House-Elf Relocation Office. He felt a little unsure about where to go, but it wasn’t long before a dark-skinned lady in a green velvet robe approached to greet the “Boy Who Lived”, recognising him from some recent _Daily Prophet_ articles. He bowed over her hand politely, and she was more than happy to spare a moment to escort him to where he needed to go. Harry deflected questions about himself and whether he missed his parents with one of Lockhart’s techniques, and encouraged the witch to talk about herself instead and why she was at the Ministry today. Her name was Miss Kanj, and she was pushing for lifting the embargo on importation of magic carpets. It was actually even a bit interesting to hear about. He bet Hermione would never have to navigate government offices on her own, or need to resort to buttering someone up for directions; her parents would take her everywhere. When they reached the office (just in time) he wished Miss Kanj a good day, and luck in her endeavours, which she seemed very pleased by.

Inside the office were a couple of comfortable chairs, with a tall, dark-haired heavyset man squashed into one of them, a number of shelves cluttered with files, and a plump blonde witch sitting behind a cluttered work desk.

“Mr. Potter! I’m so glad to see you,” she said, standing up and offering her hand. The seated man grunted with surprise, looking up from a parchment he’d been reading as he heard the greeting.

Harry wasn’t sure whether to shake her hand or kiss it, but went with shaking it in the end, since she wasn’t holding it out palm down. “Mrs Jones, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s right! Well, it’s almost eleven, so your house-elf should be arriving by Floo any minute.

“If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Crabbe,” she said politely to the seated man, “I’m sorry to say we’ll have to pick up our discussion later. You’re welcome to return at one o’clock, if you’re free then.”

The man nodded shortly in farewell to her, and standing up, smoothed his slightly crumpled robes down before wandering off wordlessly.

“Sorry about that, it’s been an unusually busy day for me today!” Mrs. Jones said brightly to him.

Harry filled out paperwork while the witch counted out his payment. Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about buying what amounted to a slave. He preferred to think of it as rescuing him from miserable living conditions with a family he hated. Maybe Dobby would be happier with him, and if not, he could set him free to find another family to live with, or to try living free on his own in a magical area. Hermione was optimistic that would work too.

“He should come through really soon,” the witch apologised, as the paperwork was completed and the elf was yet to show on schedule. “He’s being set free this morning, and sent through on his own, for maximum discretion as requested. The elf’s former Master won’t be joining us.”

“Thank you, I do appreciate that,” said Harry politely, thinking of Mr. Crabbe being in the office when he arrived. Would he gossip about it? Well, if he did, it would be too late to stop the sale, hopefully.

A few moments later Dobby came tumbling out of the Floo covered in soot, wearing a tiny green robe with a rope belt, little pointed leather shoes on his feet, and a small brimless pointed green hat on his head.

“Master Potter!” he said happily, rushing over to Harry and hugging him around the legs. He started sobbing. “Dobby knew you would keep your promise!”

Mrs. Jones looked very pleased. “Well, this is off to a marvellous start, isn’t it? Sometimes elves don’t take well to a new owner, but this one looks very happy with you. Sign here… annnnnd here. And you’re all done!” Harry scribbled his name where indicated to affirm he’d received the elf in good condition, and was free to go.

“Don’t forget to bond your house-elf as soon as possible-”

“-Dobby did not know for sure,” cried the little house-elf, looking up at Harry with enormous teary green eyes, “but Dobby hoped! Hoped that the new family would be yours, sir!”

 “As I was saying,” the witch continued, with a rebuking look at Dobby, who sniffled and blew his nose on his robe sleeve, “you will need to bond your house-elf by taking him to a family property, and accepting his vow of servitude. Oh, and remember to announce that you’re the property owner, as you do so. It’s also traditional for the house-elf to hand over his clothes, so you will want to furnish him with some fabric for him to fashion into some new clothes. Which is a shame. He has been outfitted so nicely in the traditional fashion – but you never see it for long.”

“I don’t suppose you have any suitable fabric available?” Harry asked hesitantly. “I didn’t know about that part. I thought I could sort it out later.”

Luckily she did, and Harry paid two galleons for a length of plain dull cream cotton fabric, and offered another ten galleons “in thanks for all your capable assistance in this matter”, which she took with a smile.

Harry asked if he could have a word in private with Dobby before they left, “to help calm him down”, and Mrs. Jones said she couldn’t leave her office unattended, but that there was a tea-room two doors down that they could use.

Harry packed the fabric in his backpack, and trailed by the happy little house-elf, retired to the tea-room with its ever-bubbling teapot to have a quick conference.

“Now Dobby, I wanted to give you the choice of being bonded to Potter Cottage, which I now own free and clear, Potter Manor, which has grounds and a lesser Circle, but only rubble for an actual manor, going to the Longbottom family-”

“Oh no sir! Dobby wants to stay with you!”

“-or being set free. Which might be very risky for your health, from everything I’ve read, but you might be alright if you can find a highly magical area to live in.”

“Dobby dreamt of being free, but Dobby was mostly dreaming of not having to serve Master Malfoy anymore…” Dobby’s eyes widened as he realised he’d just insulted his former Master, and moved to bash his head on one of the cupboards.

“No!” cried Harry. “You’re free, you don’t _have_ to punish yourself. You should be able to fight it. Can you fight the impulse?”

Dobby paused at the cupboard. “Yes! Dobby can!”

Harry sighed with relief. “Please don’t hurt yourself. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Some sobbing later, and pondering of the presented options, and Dobby decided he’d like to look after Potter Cottage, since it was reportedly a delightful mess in need of tending. He popped straight to Godric’s Hollow, but Harry needed to take the Knight Bus. Before he left the Ministry, Harry popped by to see if Minister Fudge was free to chat to, but a smiling matronly secretary in a pink cardigan told him the Minister was _very_ busy, so he just left a thank you card for her to pass on to him.

At Potter Cottage, Dobby waited for him at the gate, hidden carefully from Muggle view behind the mushroom-like sign that still sprouted from the ground to announce the details of the house, invisible to Muggles.

When he apologised profusely for not being able to get past the gate, Harry passed him an amulet to wear and keep. He also let the very patient snake in his pocket out for an explore of the garden, which Storm appreciated a lot.

Standing in the long weed-filled grass that was so high that all that could be seen of Dobby were the tips of his excitedly quivering pointed ears, Dobby started off the exchange of vows. It felt a bit like an extremely creepy wedding.

“Dobby is ready to bond now! Dobby declares he is a free house-elf,” he said, ears twitching happily.

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Dobby, free house-elf, I invite you to bond to Potter Cottage, which I own as the Heir of the Noble House of Potter,” Harry said, which really started things off with a tingling of magic around them.

Dobby straightened up, and Harry could just see his big bulbous eyes peering at him intently. “Dobby, son of Nark and Pinky, does promise to serve Harry-”

“Harold James Potter,” corrected Harry.

“-who is Harold James Potter, and his family, so long as Dobby lives and is fit for works.”

“I accept your vow of servitude,” said Harry awkwardly, and that seemed to do the trick for there was an odd sense of magic tightening around him, then sinking down and away before all was normal again.

“It is all done, Master Potter!” said Dobby happily.

“You don’t need to call me that Dobby, you… Are you taking your clothes off?!” Harry asked, turning around swiftly, highly embarrassed. He rummaged in his backpack and got out the swathe of fabric he’d bought at the office, holding it blindly out behind his back through the thick grass. “Did you _have_ to do that while I was here?”

“Yes, sir!”

“House-elves are weird,” muttered Harry.

“ _That was fun,_ ” came a hiss from somewhere down in the grass. “ _You chanted a sssong! Do it again._ ”

“ _It’ss all finished now_ ,” Harry hissed, and explained things to his disappointed snake.

When it was safe to turn around, Dobby had wound the cloth around himself into something like a toga. Harry didn’t really want to explore Potter Cottage again right now, but he went in anyway to show Dobby around. Dobby was keen to clean the kitchen, tidy up the garden, and fix the roof, as his first tasks. Though he didn’t sound too sure about the roof.

“Well, just do what you can,” said Harry comfortingly, “and don’t punish yourself if you can’t do it without more materials. And don’t disturb the wards or magic stuff like that, or any of my parents’ possessions except for stuff that obviously needs cleaning, like dishes, linen, and clothes. But if you find some sewing supplies you’re welcome to make yourself a tunic to go under your toga, if you like.”

Some grateful hugs later from the manic little elf, and promises to be the best house-elf ever, Harry finally managed to extricate himself from Dobby’s surprisingly tight grip. Dobby was warned _not_ to disturb him at the Dursleys’, but to only pop into his bedroom at night and leave a note on his desk if he needed to communicate something important.

“And Dobby will listen for you to call for him, Master Potter!” Dobby added eagerly.

Well, at least that had been useful in the past. For now, Harry just wanted to get out of the house. Without a task to stay focused on, it was making him kind of sad thinking of what might have been. If he’d had parents to raise him. If he’d actually been loved and wanted.

“I’ve got to go,” he said gruffly. “I have banking to do, and I’ve got to get home. Will you be alright here without me?” Dobby apologised, promised he would be fine alone, and waved him farewell.

After a detour back to Diagon Alley, Harry arrived home late with a belly full of eel pie from the Leaky Cauldron, and a backpack full of notes about his vaults and estimates of future expenditures, courtesy of a tiring session at Gringotts haggling and talking with Griphook. He’d also withdrawn the _Denizens of the Deep_ book for Mr. Lupin, some more books for casual reading, and the crystal lily for Professor Snape.

In great detail his notes basically spelt out for his contemplation that he’d been spending _far_ too much money lately, as he’d suspected. The repayment of St. Mungo’s fees by the Finch-Fletchleys was his only income, and was disappearing fast to pay his correspondence course fees. The twenty per cent share of Lockhart’s book and interview proceeds wouldn’t start appearing for months, for the book wasn’t even written yet. And that was assuming the man didn’t renege on his promise. Griphook tried to persuade him into considering some investment opportunities, but Harry was too wary. The more the grinning, sharp-toothed Griphook made them sound like sure things, the less Harry wanted to take him up on any of the offers. What with Hogwarts fees, Muggle schooling fees, regular expenditures on clothes and books, and an ever increasing amount of reciprocal gift buying for friends, Harry would have to be a lot more frugal if he didn’t want to run out of money in his trust vault before he was seventeen. He didn’t have much leeway left for luxurious expenditures like more language courses or many more fundraising dinners. He certainly couldn’t risk a bad investment consuming what funds he had left.

However, Griphook proved surprisingly co-operative in volunteering to draft up a contract to lock in Lockhart’s anticipated payments to Harry’s vault, when they discussed that matter in detail.

“The glory of increased funds to a vault _I_ manage, secured from a vault _Bogrod_ manages, is worth the effort invested,” he grinned toothily. “I won’t even charge you for it.”

“Then I leave it in your capable hands,” Harry said politely. Then decided to add a little more bite to things, seeing Griphook snorting at him for his courtesy.

“ _If_ you’re up to the challenge, that is. Perhaps Bogrod would be a better manager for the Potter Vault,” he mused, with a sly smile.

Griphook let out a barking laugh. “Hah! That’s more like it, youngling. And fear not, I shall find you a better investment option than the ‘lizard belts’ company. Some enterprise that would pass muster even with the estimable Mr. Parkinson."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again to all my loyal readers, new fans, and the quietly appreciative lurkers! Long time no see – thanks for waiting.
> 
> I loved getting so many reviews on the last chapter, and thanks for following & favouriting this next story in the series. Thanks also to those guests without accounts who leave a review or kudos on my story anyway. I appreciate the effort! :) I respond to all reviews and comments from those with reviews via PM on fanfiction dot net, or in a response comment on AO3. Guest reviews sometimes get a response via a new review, or a shout out in a new chapter if there’s something specific to respond to.
> 
> And hello to all my readers in so many countries around the world - it’s exciting that there are so many of you scattered all over the world!
> 
> Paula in Chile: Hello! Thanks for your guest review.
> 
> HP Fan (Guest): I deliberately left Dobby and Ambrosius as things to cover in the next fic (this one), along with some other ongoing plot threads.
> 
> Guest: At the end of “Parseltongue is Really Very Ordinary”, Harry getting an “A” for Potions is not an error. It’s an “A” standing for “Acceptable”, which is a very average kind of passing grade in the canonical Hogwarts grading system (O = Outstanding, E = Exceeds Expectations, A = Acceptable, P = Poor, D = Dreadful, T = Troll). Thanks for checking anyway – I don’t mind people pointing out errors in a constructive fashion. :)
> 
> Tristan Ridley (Guest): Thanks for a very lovely flattering review! I do indeed try and keep the kids speaking and acting like kids (if a little formal at times). And I’m glad you find my portrayal of Harry’s reaction to his abuse plausibly realistic.
> 
> Tristan wrote something interesting (following on from their comments about the portrayal of Harry’s abuse at the hands of the Dursleys) that I’d like feedback on from my other readers: “I hope that when you're finished the entire tale you go back and re-do the very first early scenes to be more perfect, because this story I think has the potential to actually help some people. Vernon and Petunia could do to be a bit less positive in their reactions and more subtle, I think. But it's your amazing story, so do as you think best.”
> 
> What do you think, guys? I know my writing style has changed over my past 10mths or so of intensive writing, and I think my first fic was more rough and less polished. Certainly I’ve caught “fantasy writer syndrome”, with my later works being much more wordy, and longer in length. Does my first fic in this series (“The Definition of Normal”) need a bit of polish, and if so, where and how? Specific and *constructive* criticism (or your praise/vote for “keep it as it is”) is welcome. You could leave a review/comment here if you’ve got thoughts to share, or go back to the first fic and leave reviews/comments on the relevant chapters you feel could do with a bit more polish.
> 
> There will be another chapter of this fic posted next Tuesday.


	3. Trouble With Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry celebrates his birthday and Lughnasadh, and suffers through Aunt Marge’s visit to Privet Drive. Family is always trouble, one way or another.

**_July, 1993_ **

Harry correctly anticipated the large influx of owls after sunset on the 30th of July bearing birthday gifts for the next day, and quietly congratulated himself on encouraging the Dursleys to stay settled in front of the television that evening with the curtains discreetly drawn, occupied with a supply of post-dinner “movie snacks” he’d made that afternoon. He didn’t want them to notice all the swooping owls.

He had quite the haul of birthday gifts this year, which was still a delightful novelty to him. He almost felt like counting them to gloat over, like Dudley did. One of the first birthday gifts he opened was from Tracey – a book titled _Modern Magical World History_.

“ _I understand that you don’t enjoy History of Magic. But it can be really exciting when you’re not just learning from Binns! I’m going to take it to N.E.W.T. level. This is one of my favourite textbooks, I had to special order a copy for you because Flourish and Blotts don’t usually stock it. I hope you enjoy it too. I keep hoping it will be one of our set texts, but no luck yet_.”

Neville sent him a double Albert chain, “to put your dad’s watch on”. The chain attached to a vest buttonhole, then one loop went to a little vest pocket where you kept your watch, and the other loop draped to the other side to counterbalance it, with a fob weight to be attached of his choice. Neville suggested using his Heir ring, or Gringotts key, and Harry thought both would work well. He also wrote that Harry should take the watch to the jeweller at 92 Diagon Alley, where his Gran had paid for it to be cleaned and checked. Harry guessed that explained Neville’s curious, tactful questioning in his first letter about why he’d had to borrow Neville’s watch on the train from Hogwarts.

Draco and his parents sent a gift certificate in graceful calligraphy for a new set of formal robes from _Twilfitt and Tattings_ in Diagon Alley. There was also a small booklet “that my father thought you might enjoy perusing” called _The Knights of Walpurgis_ , which on a quick flip through seemed to be a mix of political theory and information about pagan traditions. Harry suspiciously asked Storm to check it out, but he said it didn’t seem very “special”. So it probably wasn’t enchanted or anything.

Percy’s screech owl Hermes brought a chatty birthday letter full of well wishes, and told Harry all about the Weasley family’s win of the 700 Galleon “Daily Prophet Draw”, and their subsequent holiday in Egypt visiting his brother William. Though Percy _did_ think his parents should have budgeted their winnings more wisely, he had been enjoying learning about Ancient Egyptian wizards. He also proudly mentioned that he’d been made Head Boy. Harry made sure to congratulate him on that in his thank you letter.

Storm was most impressed with Millicent’s unusual gift of a sealed jar of water filled with live tadpoles. “ _She is the **best** friend. I like her the most,_ ” he hissed approvingly.

“ _More than Pansy, who bought you for me in the first place?_ ” Harry asked. Storm thought about it for a while.

“ _I like her too_ ,” he concluded. “ _But did she sssend sssomething for me to eat?_ ”

“ _No, there’ss just a ssset of empty crystal potion vialss from her, no sssnackss,_ ” Harry said.

“ _Then I like the other one better,_ ” Storm concluded. Harry noted in his thank you note to Millicent that she’d managed to win Storm’s favour completely and he was a very happy snake, which would probably please her. He addressed the outside of the envelope to her father, as she’d reminded him that any correspondence needed to go through him.

Daphne sent a copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_. He certainly had a lot of books now!

Hermione’s present arrived with her barn owl Diana at the same time that Neville’s owl did – she’d sent two dragonbone stiffeners, “to go with all your cravats”.

Ernie had sent a pair of fancy white gloves, and Harry sighed and made a mental note to ask Pansy or Neville if he needed to reciprocate or not, now that Ernie was clearly making a habit of sending gifts. He jotted it down on his list he’d started last year (as advised) to track who was sending him gifts regularly. Alice Tolipan had simply sent him a birthday card with her best wishes, and a reminder that she’d be happy to tutor him if requested. The Derrick family had sent him another drawing by Flavia, of a brightly coloured “rainbow snake” with “STOrM” carefully inked underneath in blotchy letters. There was also a rather nice muslin bookmark embroidered with the Potter crest in tiny cross-stitch, which was presumably done by Mrs. Derrick.

“ _She is my favourite, too,_ ” his approving fickle snake declared, admiring his colourful portrait that Flavia had drawn.

Harry liked it too. “ _It’ss cute, isn’t it? It must be nice to have a little sssister. I bet we can get Colin to take a photo of you to sssend to her, once we’re back at Hogwartss._ ”

Harry jotted down a few more names and gifts for his “suck-up” list. He _still_ had no idea who most of the people were. Probably they’d bowed to him a bunch of times, and introduced themselves, and he’d forgotten them. Quills in green, black, or silvery-grey, plain black ink, sweets, and parchment seemed popular gifts this year. There was a distinct lack of cravats, which frankly came as a bit of a relief.

The letter from Hogwarts was his book list for next year, and there was also a permission slip to authorise Hogsmeade visits, with a birthday card from Professor McGonagall tucked in there too.

There was a gift in plain brown paper that Harry hoped, and worried, might be from Quirrell. But it turned out to be from Professor Snape.

“ _To Mr. Harry James Potter,_

_My felicitations on your birthday, I trust it will be a pleasant one for you._

_I hope you appreciated the photo of your mother I sent to you in your first year. I regret to say I cannot send another; those photos I could spare I gifted to Headmaster Dumbledore for inclusion in the photo album you should have long since received._

_Enclosed is a gift instead merely related to one of her interests, and of course mine. Lily was a most diligent student of Potions, and enjoyed experimenting with recipes. I have transcribed a copy of a variation on the Burn-healing Paste that she developed in her O.W.L. year._

_You will note that the inclusion of aloe vera in the second stage results in a colour change, producing a dull red-orange cinnabar paste rather than the usual bright pumpkin orange. As the affinity of aloe vera is water she reduced the number of deasil stirs according to arithmantic principles, and the usual pewter cauldron will suffice for this concoction. The overall result is a satisfactory one, producing a more instant soothing sensation when the balm is first applied._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master_ ”

But… _Quirrell_ had sent the photo in first year. He’d said so. One of them was lying. But which one? Well, he hadn’t heard from Quirrell in months (and still wasn’t sure what he’d say if he _did_ so maybe that was for the best), so he’d write to Snape and see what he said. He was owed a thank you letter in any case.

-000-

The television in the kitchen was off, for one of the few times all holiday, when Harry went down for breakfast. There was no birthday cake, but his aunt had cooked pancakes for breakfast (one of his favourites!), and there was a modest pile of presents on the table for him.

“Happy birthday!” said Dudley, grinning at him. “You got seven presents. That’s two more than last year!” His aunt and uncle briefly wished him a happy birthday too.

The biggest present was more textbooks to match Dudley’s Smeltings books. There was also another roll of stamps, and a bag of second-hand clothes, just like usual. There was a little box of multi-coloured sticky notes, some coloured cardboard folders, and a pack of highlighters. The last gift had a tag on it saying it was from Dudley – it was long plastic segmented stick of segmented blue and white triangle shapes. Harry looked at it with confusion.

“It’s a Rubik’s snake,” Dudley said with a snicker. “You move the bits around to make different shapes. You can have a pet snake. Or a kitten. Sort of.” He snatched it off Harry and twisted it about to make a cobra shape. “Hissss!!!” he waved it in Harry’s face, while his parents watched him indulgently.

The uninteresting business of Harry’s birthday swiftly dealt with, the television was put back on, just in time to hear a report from the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries about some dull legislation. Vernon lost interest in the news pretty quickly, and headed off to fetch Aunt Marge for her week-long visit. Dudley seized the opportunity to switch the channel to something more interesting and brain-rotting.

Harry tried to escape the house too (he wanted to visit Potter Cottage or Manor for Lughnasadh) but his Aunt roped him into tidying up the house and garden in preparation for Aunt Marge’s visit. And Harry got her to sign his Hogsmeade permission slip with the simple (and honest) explanation that he’d like to be able to make phone calls to his Oxford Home Schooling tutor to help with his correspondence studies.

“Why don’t you use a phone at school?” she asked curiously, as she scribbled down her name and signature. “Surely one of the teachers could let you use one in their office.”

“They don’t have any.”

“Really? Why not?”

Harry tilted his head thoughtfully. “That’s a really good question, actually. Some people say that electronics don’t work at Hogwarts, but I know people who have a ‘Wizarding Wireless’, which is like a radio, and those seem to work alright, though I don’t know what’s actually inside the casing.

“Either iron or electricity interferes with magic, or magic interferes with one or more of those things in the electronics. I’m not sure which it is, or both. In any case, they definitely don’t have any phone lines there. Or even electricity – no power lines either. I’m hoping Hogsmeade might have a phone, or maybe there’d be one in a nearby Mu… normal town.”

“That reminds me, if Aunt Marge asks, remember you go to Smeltings with Duddykins,” his aunt reminded him. Harry nodded obediently. “And behave yourself, and watch what you say.”

“I will if she will.”

“You will even if she _doesn’t_ ,” warned his aunt. Harry sighed. _Well, here’s hoping it won’t be as bad as her last visit_ , he thought optimistically. The year before he left for Hogwarts, her dog chased him up a tree and kept him there for an hour before he was called off (at Aunt Petunia’s prompting) so he could come and do the dishes.

-000-

 _It’s worse than last time_ , Harry thought despondently that night at dinner, with a painfully fixed smile on his face as Aunt Marge explained how _she_ would’ve dumped him at an orphanage rather than taken him in, and that boys like him should get the cane _regularly_ at school to keep them in line.

The next day as she gave Dudley a new skateboard and glared at Harry as if daring him to ask where _his_ gift was, he was relieved to be granted permission by his uncle to “head out to the library”. And he did stop there briefly to borrow some books about the witch hunts, before nipping round the corner to call the Knight Bus. He was off to the Circle at Potter Manor for Lughnasadh.

He picked some blackberries and ivy as he travelled through the grounds of the manor, and summoned Dobby once he remembered he could do so. The little toga-clad elf was thrilled at the opportunity to fetch him a basket for his overflowing handful of berries that were staining his skin (he really hadn’t thought that through). Dobby didn’t seem to want to leave after that though, so Harry succumbed with a sigh to the inevitability of having an over-enthusiastic house-elf tagging along.

While Storm basked on top of one of the stones in the Circle in a warm sunny spot, Harry tidied up around the Circle with his copper potions knife, moving in a deasil (clockwise) direction and cutting down a few weeds as he went. He put on his dragonhide gloves on to pull a couple of thistles that were encroaching on the clearing. Dobby was thrilled to be allowed to pull out as many thistles as he liked, too, but was aghast when Harry thoughtlessly offered to lend his gloves; he’d forgotten that it might free the little elf, and then had to spend ten minutes explaining and apologising his offer, trying to get him to calm down and stop crying.

“Dobby! Dobby, look! Fairies! And they need snacks, Dobby,” he said, as a last desperate distraction as a couple of them emerged from the woods. “We must be good hosts, for the honour of the Noble Potter family!” That did the trick – Dobby popped off to Potter Cottage to prepare a platter of treats for the fairies, with a promise to return as fast as he could.

Harry sighed with relief, and started setting up for his ritual. He quickly changed into a casual robe and packed his Muggle clothes away (and out of the Circle). Then he spread his old school cloak out on the ground in the middle of the Circle and arranged on it his ivy, the basket of berries, some rosemary, parsley, and flowers from the garden at home, and a scone he’d baked himself yesterday (not being confident of his bread-making skills). In the centre he added a stub of yellow candle stuck with a dribble of cooled wax to a small ceramic saucer.

“ _Do you think thiss ssseemss like a good ssspot?_ ” he asked Storm. “ _For a magic ritual?_ ”

“ _It ssseemss a fine place to sssing,_ ” he hissed approvingly. “ _Like a place with paintingss._ ”

“ _I’ll that as a yess,_ ” said Harry. It was probably the most intelligible response he was going to get out of him. At least he seemed generally in favour of it.

“ _Would you like me to make it rain for your sssinging? Or sssome mist? I can’t make a big ssstorm yet, I think. But I could try if it will help. What will you sssing for? Good hunting?_ ”

Harry thought about his offer to make rain. Storm was trying to help, but would it suit the occasion? “ _Not today, I think, because it’ss an earth festival. Imbolc is a water festival, and that would be a good occasion for it. So I think I would love to see you make sssome mist or rain another time. But it was a very nice offer so thank you._ ”

He hoped his snake wouldn’t have hurt feelings over his refusal, and luckily it didn’t seem discouraged at all. “ _I shall dig!_ ” said Storm happily. “ _Digging is an earth thing, isn’t it?_ ”

“ _Alright,_ ” agreed Harry. “ _But outside the Circle. Find a nice rock if you can, or dig up a plant you think is interesting, and I’ll add it to the altar._ ” Storm burrowed quite impressively into the earth as if it was much softer than it looked, like loose sand rather than solid dirt and pebbles. There was a tiny ripple in the earth above where he was moving.

Dobby popped back with a platter of tiny pieces of meat and fruit for the very happy fairies who descended upon the plate like starved locusts, while Harry waited patiently for his snake.

Eventually Storm pushed his way out of the earth again, with a triangular piece of stone that he pushed out of the ground with his snout. Harry picked it up and examined it – it was a grey-blue piece of stone, which looked like it had been chipped into the shape of a triangle with an inward curve at the base.

“ _I think it’ss an old ssstone arrowhead, maybe flint,_ ” he said to Storm. “ _Part of a very ancient weapon. Probably made thousandss of yearss ago._ ”

“ _I like it!_ ” his snake hissed enthusiastically. “ _It is ssspecial! Like it’ss dangerouss! Don’t let it bite you!_ ”

Harry handled it a bit more warily after that just in case it was enchanted or cursed or something, and placed it down on his makeshift altar with care, next to a flower. “ _You did a great job finding it_ , _and you burrowed very impressively_ ,” he praised his happy little snake, who went contentedly back to his favourite warm standing stone after his moment of glory.

Harry walked around the inside circumference of the Circle in a deasil direction, touching each stone as he went and offering it some of his magic. They felt different after he’d passed. Like they were more solid, or something. He was still having trouble counting them, so he simply made sure to stop just before the stone he’d started at. Dobby and Storm watched with interest as he then moved to the centre of the Circle and lit the candle stub with a match. With magic would have been better, but he knew the Ministry had ways of tracking you if you used your wand as an under-aged wizard.

He knelt on the ground with his hands on the soil in front of his makeshift altar, sending his power into the earth as he chanted his ritual words in a sing-song voice (though without an actual tune).

_“The Wheel of the Year turns,_

_Dark to light, light to dark, the seasons turn,_

_And the time of harvest is upon us again._

_With food am I blessed, with food do I flourish,_

_The bounty of the earth._

_Food I offer, grown, harvested, and prepared with my own hands,_

_The bounty of the earth._

_Blessed be the earth,_

_Blessed be the sun that warms it,_

_Blessed be the magic that empowers it._

_On Lughnasadh, this day of earth, may magic accept my offering,_

_May magic bring blessings to my household, land, and crops.”_

There was a whoosh of fire as his candle in its dish, for no apparent reason, tipped over and flared up to set fire to his cloak and then everything on it. Harry scrambled back with a yelp and was going to try and smother the fire, but Dobby clapped his hands excitedly.

“Oh, you dids good, Master Potter! That is a very good ritual.”

“Was that supposed to happen? The book didn’t say that would happen.”

“ _That was a nice sssong,_ ” Storm said approvingly. “ _But you should dance next time too. With ssstomping. And the fire is warm. I like it._ ”

“Oh yes, Master Potter. My old master was always very happy if his offerings were accepted in some way.”

“The book just said you eat the bread and fruit, next,” Harry said, looking at his burning pile. “Well, at least it was my _old_ cloak. I just expected it would get dirt on it.”

At the end when the fire had died away, the only things that were left were the arrowhead, the silver cloak clasp, and the saucer. The gathered little fairies chirped and fought over who would get to carry them off as prizes. Harry didn’t try and interfere with their scuffle. Their teeth looked _sharp_.

-000-

In response to his query about Snape’s gift, Harry had a letter owled promptly from Professor Snape only a couple of days later.

_“If you are speaking of the picture of your mother with her hair blowing in the wind that I sent as a gift for Yule of 1991, I can assure you with the utmost certainly that it was from myself, and not from Mr. Quirrell. Whom I might point out is some ten odd years my senior, and most certainly never attended Hogwarts at the same time as myself or your mother. A fact which you should be easily able to ascertain the veracity of by consulting another teacher at Hogwarts, such as your own Head of House._

_As to which one of us is being “very Slytherin about this whole business”, if you are endeavouring to slander one of us with accusations of duplicity with such a phrase, you must clearly look to the thieving Mr. Quirrell rather than myself, despite his sorting into Ravenclaw.”_

_Well_ , thought Harry, _that certainly paints an interesting picture of things_. Especially if Professor Quirrell was indeed a Ravenclaw rather than a Slytherin. Either Quirrell was lying over and over to perhaps ingratiate himself with Harry… or the very Slytherin teacher Harry had interacted with and corresponded with was someone merely impersonating or possessing Quirrell. Once he was back at Hogwarts, he was definitely going to ask some teachers some pointed questions about Tom Riddle, Voldemort, Quirrell, and perhaps Snape as well (given his rumoured Death Eater past).

-000-

“Lounging about again all day in your room instead of earning your keep today, weren’t you boy?” said Aunt Marge at lunch on the fifth day of her visit.

“I was studying,” he muttered grouchily.

“And has it done you any good? You mustn’t blame yourself Vernon, if he doesn’t do well. You know mother always said that if there’s something rotten on the _inside_ there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

His Aunt Petunia looked at him nervously as Harry’s hands clenched from the effort not to yell at Aunt Marge.

“I’m doing well in Science and Maths. Dudley has me beat in Technology, History and P.E.,” he said as calmly as he could manage.

“I’m great at computers!” said Dudley happily, joining in the conversation to talk about the really great computer lab they had at Smeltings. Harry and Petunia both relaxed as Dudley dominated the conversation and it moved into safer territory than Harry’s failings. Harry wasn’t so naïve as to think it had been done on purpose to help him – Dudley just liked talking about himself and being showered with praise.

Harry got an odd letter from Neville that evening, hoping he was “staying safe and studying hard, and not tempted to do anything headstrong despite the provocation”, so he wrote back via Neville’s owl, asking why exactly Neville would think he would be doing anything silly, and _what_ provocation was he talking about?

Harry spent as much time away from Aunt Marge and her dog Ripper as he could manage. But he couldn’t escape her farewell dinner at the end of her week-long stay. They got all the way to dessert before she started insulting him, with Uncle Vernon boasting again over dinner about his new company car, and the holiday house in Majorca he was sorting out a timeshare arrangement for, thanks to his great deals made with the Masons and other prominent clients during the past year. But eventually the four bottles of wine shared over dinner and a giant glass of brandy took its toll on his sister’s tongue.

Harry coped with her calling him a mean, runty thing, but when she started in on his parents and she and Vernon discussed how his father was unemployed, a “good-for-nothing lazy scrounger”, a weird pressure built up around him and the lights in the house started flickering.

He took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. “May I be excused, Aunt Petunia? I really need to… use the bathroom.” She nodded agreement with a nervous look at the lights.

As Aunt Marge expounded on her theory about how his parents were probably drunk when their car crashed, Harry ran upstairs to his room and the door slammed shut behind him without him touching it.

“She’s an idiot, she’s an _idiot_ , and she knows _nothing_ about my parents. A _Muggle_ like her wouldn’t know the first _thing_ about my parents,” he muttered angrily to himself as he flopped down on his bed. He got up a moment later to get Storm out of his tank hidden in the cupboard, and explained in great detail to him exactly why Aunt Marge should never have care of a pet rock, let alone dogs, and why _she_ was the runty one who should have been drowned at birth. He patted Storm for comfort, which his snake tolerated for his sake. Storm promised to eat his Aunt Marge for him if he ever grew large enough, which was a kindly meant thought, if a gory one. They had a little chat _again_ about how you shouldn’t eat anyone, even the really annoying people.

“ _Alright,_ ” Storm eventually conceded. “ _I will hit the annoying oness with lightning or tip a boulder on them, instead._ ”

There was a loud thump from downstairs, like someone had tripped over, and Harry heard his Aunt Petunia shriek in fear, then yell for him.

“HARRY!” she screeched, sounding terrified.

Harry’s heart beat wildly. Had Uncle Vernon had a heart attack? Was someone attacking his family? He grabbed his wand from the bedside table and sprinted downstairs with his snake, all forgotten, clinging tightly for dear life to his left arm.

Down in the dining room he spotted Aunt Petunia clinging protectively to his rather terrified looking cousin. There was relief in her eyes as she saw him come downstairs, wand in hand, and she pointed shakily across the other side of the room to where Aunt Marge lay unconscious on the floor with her chair tipped over next to her. And to where a strange old man was holding the red-faced and angry Uncle Vernon at wandpoint. He was obviously a wizard. It wasn’t just the wand that gave him away, it was the double-breasted purple suit with flowery embroidery around the edge of the jacket, and matching purple cravat. Combined with the baseball cap and the elbow-length grey hair neatly tied back in a ponytail, the combination screamed “pure-blood wizard”.

“Ah, Harry Potter-” he said in a calm tone of voice, but Harry didn’t want to wait for him to begin a villainous monologue.

“- _Expelliarmus!_ ” he yelled, and the wizard’s wand flew out of his hand and across the room.

“There’s really no need for-”

“- _Accio_ wand!” Harry snatched the stranger’s wand out of the air as it flew to him in a stuttering jerky manner, and tucked it down the front of his shirt. He was very glad he’d studied that spell from one of his parents’ books on Charms. It fixed a weakness with the Disarming Charm – that your opponent could simply pick their wand back up again.

“Marvellous spellcasting, Mr. Potter! But I mean you no harm,” the wizard said, calmly spreading his hands out. “We are family, after all.”

“Who are you?” asked Harry suspiciously, keeping his wand trained on the odd, snub-nosed wizard.

“Good work, boy!” said Uncle Vernon. “Now get out of my house!” he bellowed, turning to face the strange wizard again, who sneered at him with disgust. His expression looked kind of familiar to Harry.

“You, sir, are the most pathetic example of a Muggle it has ever been my misfortune to endure encountering. My sister’s spirit would weep even in the midst of the joys of the Elysian Fields if she could see the ill-bred lout it was her daughter’s misfortune to wed.”

Aunt Petunia looked very offended. “Mother was _very happy_ with Vernon as her son-in-law, I’ll have you know!”

“Get OUT!” yelled Vernon repetitively, face red with anger, pointing at the door.

“Certainly not without my _wand_ , you ridiculous buffoon. We also have our duel to finish, which it was most impolite of you to interrupt, Mr. Potter, but I do appreciate the situation you stumbled upon must have been somewhat startling and confusing.”

Harry’s mind worked as he put the clues together. “You’re from Pansy’s family. Are you her grandfather?”

“Yes, that’s correct. How terribly remiss of me not to introduce myself directly. Trophonius Parkinson, Head of the Sacred House of Parkinson, at your service, Mr. Potter.” He bowed politely, as to one of lesser rank.

Harry bowed back. “A pleasure, sir. Harold James Potter, Heir of the Noble House of Potter. But… why did you attack my Aunt Marge, and why were you trying to duel Uncle Vernon? He is a Muggle, you know, so it’s not like it could be a fair fight, given you have a wand and all.”

“Yes, so I gathered. He refused to fetch his sword, and threatened to lay hands upon my person. Most uncouth.”

“Can’t stop me now, can you?” said his uncle smugly, advancing on the man. “I’ll give you a right thrashing for what you did to my sister.”

The wizard took a wary couple of paces away from Uncle Vernon, in Harry’s direction. “She is merely stunned, and it was well-deserved for her venomous words about my great-nephew. There is a _reason_ ladies should not indulge in hard liquor, sir. My wand, if you’d be so kind,” said Mr. Parkinson, holding his hand out in Harry’s direction, without looking away from Harry’s uncle.

Harry hesitated. “Uncle Vernon, don’t. Let me just talk to him, alright? And Mr. Parkinson? My uncle doesn’t _own_ a sword, so he really can’t duel.”

“There’s a snake on you!” Aunt Petunia shrieked at Harry, having noticed Storm. It distracted his uncle, too, which was a nice incidental bonus.

“Oh, I errr, I summoned it with a spell. Just in case of emergencies,” Harry said hastily. “It will bite if anyone grabs me.” Dudley snorted.

“Really? I had assumed it-” started Mr. Parkinson.

“-Let’s go upstairs and talk,” said Harry desperately. “I’ll talk to him upstairs, and then he’ll leave, okay?”

“I certainly have no desire to linger any longer in this… _place_ any more than necessary. We shall discuss the matter of your warding wizard to wizard, in private.

“And let it be known, Mrs. Dursley, that you are no niece or kin of mine,” he said grandly, pointing dramatically at her. “The House of Parkinson acknowledges no connection to _you_ or your insolent spawn. Lead the way, Mr. Potter.”

“I’m not a spawn,” grumbled Dudley resentfully, “and _you’re_ a big hippy freak.” Mr. Parkinson ignored him totally, like he’d been sent to Coventry.

“Aunt Marge will be fine,” muttered Harry to his Aunt Petunia, before he went upstairs. “I’ve been hit with that spell myself. Just give it a little time.”

Upstairs in Harry’s room, which Mr. Parkinson called “highly unsuitable accommodations for a wizard of your standing”, he learnt what had brought Pansy’s grandfather to his home in such an unexpected manner. And Harry gave him his wand back, which was graciously received.

Apparently, Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban, and the Parkinson family had recently heard rumours from people in the Ministry that he was after Harry, intent on murder. Pansy and her parents had appealed to him to help Harry, and he’d come to discuss improving the warding on Harry’s residence (at Parkinson family expense, no less), “…only to be grossly refused in the most insulting terms.”

Mr. Parkinson explained the key problem, “I regret to say, Mr. Potter, that the best wards cannot be put in place without the fullest co-operation from the owner of the property, which regrettably would be your Uncle, who balked completely at the mere notion. Even if wards are even possible, with a _Muggle_ in charge, they would be but paltry ones. And I now find myself most ill-disposed to provide any assistance to my erstwhile niece and her family.”

“Do you think Sirius Black will really come here? To Privet Drive?”

“As I told your guardians, I think it regrettably likely. I regret that I cannot offer you sanctuary with the Parkinson family – that connection must be kept quiet for now. I must see to my son’s family’s safety first and foremost. I hope you understand – I cannot make them the targets of a madman.”

“Oh, of course,” said Harry politely, if disappointedly. “Well thank you for the warning, at least. And the thought. I’m sorry but I’m sure my aunt and uncle won’t change their mind about setting up wards.”

As the wizard shook hands with him, Harry couldn’t contain his curiosity. “Do you mind if I ask, why the baseball cap? It looks rather odd, with the suit.”

“I was assured by experts that a short-brimmed cap of this style was the very height of fashion in Muggle hats for men, with top hats and bowlers no longer worn by the masses,” the old wizard said stiffly, looking a little offended. “And I was told that suits are always appropriate for a man of quality making a formal call.”

Harry thought it best to escort him to the door, just in case of further trouble. Which there sort of was, as Mr. Parkinson cast a Memory Charm on Aunt Marge as he went past her still-unconscious body. Aunt Petunia shrieked again, and Uncle Vernon yelled. Dudley was out of sight, probably hiding in his room.

“Kindly cease your incessant shrieking, you ridiculous harpy,” sneered Mr. Parkinson. “It is a legal requirement to Obliviate Muggles who might endanger the Statute of Secrecy. She has forgotten nothing except the past hour or so, and will come to no harm from the spell. Would you rather a professional Obliviator team be dispatched from the Ministry to your home? No? Then cease your caterwauling posthaste.”

“Well I never! How dare you insult me in my own house! Vernon! Get him out!” It was an easier job for the red-faced Uncle Vernon this time than it was on his last attempt. For Mr. Parkinson was ready to leave now and simply stalked out, ignoring the both of them.

Uncle Vernon shouted angrily after him to never come back, until shushed by Aunt Petunia, who was fearful of what the neighbours might think.

After Mr. Parkinson had left, there was a period of fussing over Aunt Marge and the Dursleys being reassured she’d be fine and should wake in an hour or so. Things seemed to be settling down. But then Uncle Vernon looked at Harry with an angry glare. Harry froze. Robbed of his preferred target by Mr. Parkinson’s departure, his uncle’s anger might now instead be turned on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “William” is Bill Weasley’s canonical given name, which Percy uses rather than his nickname. Percy’s a formal kind of guy in his letter writing.
> 
> Thanks to phoenixdaisy for a comment they left ages ago on “A New Kind of Normal” which prompted me that Snape should send another gift to Harry so Quirrell’s deception would be uncovered! I’m sorry it didn’t happen earlier – I felt it simply didn’t fit the flow of the story.
> 
> Thanks to Toraach who suggested that it would be hilarious if Grandpa Parkinson visited Privet Drive, and met his niece Petunia. The idea’s moment has come at last!
> 
> Thanks to Kitty who's been helping keep an eagle eye out for typos - many typos fixed now! Kitty, please get in contact with me via a private message on fanfiction dot net (I'm also there as BrilliantLady) to discuss being a beta, if you're interested!


	4. Leaving Privet Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry leaves Privet Drive, encounters an odd stray dog, and settles into his new hideout.

**_August, 1993_ **

Uncle Vernon didn’t lash out physically. But what he did next hurt Harry deep to the bone.

“Well, Marge is settled in her room. She’s come round, and apologised for passing out after so much wine, pet,” he relayed to his wife. “So now it’s time to pack.”

“Pack?”

“Yes, we’ll leave first thing in the morning. It’s a man’s job to protect his family,” Vernon pronounced, puffed up with determined self-importance. “Marge is off home first thing in the morning in any case, so she’ll be safe. And the three of us are going away somewhere until he’s back at… _that school_. My foot is down, Petunia. I’ll not have our family hunted down by that Sirius Black. It’s not just what that… _visitor_ said. I saw Black on the news. Dreadful mass murderer, the police said. Avoid at all costs.”

Harry’s heart sunk. For so many years he’d been trying to win their approval, but the reality was that Uncle Vernon simply didn’t consider him part of his family, even now. When he thought of “family”, Harry wasn’t even a part of it. He’d leave Harry to be murdered by Sirius Black, if it would help keep his wife and son safe.

“But what do _I_ do?” He looked at his aunt, but she was avoiding his gaze, unwilling to challenge her husband for his sake.

Uncle Vernon glared at him. “You? This problem is all your fault, you realise - we’re the ones suffering here, forced out of our own home because the trouble you’ve brought to it. That murderer who might kill us in our beds, and that freak relative of yours.”

Harry started to sniffle sadly, tears running down his face.

“Now then boy, buck up like a man. There’s nothing worth crying about, you’re being ridiculous. You can go and stay with some of your kind until school starts,” Uncle Vernon said gruffly.

Aunt Petunia pursed her lips with a worried, disapproving look. “You do have friends you can go and stay with, don’t you Harry? They’ll have _wards_ and things,” she said with an air of distaste.

“It would be better than staying here. If that crazed killer showed up casting spells everywhere, remember we’d be completely helpless against him, just like we were against that arrogant brute.”

“He said he’s your uncle,” Uncle Vernon said, with an angry glare at her. “You never told me there were _more_ of them in your family.”

Aunt Petunia looked worried as she responded shrilly and quickly, “He said I’m no part of his family. Well the feeling is most definitely mutual! As if I even _wanted_ to be associated with _his_ sort. I say he’s no relative of mine _either_.” Uncle Vernon looked somewhat satisfied with that denunciation.

“Harry. You know freaks like that Sirius Black could burn the house down around us all, and make us dance while they did it. You’ll be safer off with your own kind, and so will we,” his aunt pronounced.

“But will Harry be okay?” worried Dudley. Aunt Petunia started sobbing over her kind Ickle Dudleykins, and gave her son a hug.

“I guess I’ll be fine,” said Harry with sad resignation, wiping his eyes. “I guess it’s best if I… I don’t know. Maybe stay away from ordinary people. I wouldn’t want people to be… attacked just because of me. I’ll hide out somewhere in the wizarding world. I have some friends I could go to, maybe.”

After a whispered conference with his wife, Vernon pressed a hundred pounds into Harry’s hand. “That will see you safe to one of your friends’ houses, or to a hotel for the night if it’s too late to reach them tonight.” Harry forced out a tremulous smile of thanks. But inside he was hurting. His uncle didn’t even want to let him stay even one night at Privet Drive, now he knew there was danger.

As his aunt ignored him as she rushed around and started packing, and his uncle phoned an airline to shout about why he needed tickets to Majorca for first thing tomorrow morning, Dudley drew Harry aside for a quiet chat.

“You’ll be alright, won’t you?” he asked, looking kind of guilty. “Really? I mean, those spells you cast at that wizard downstairs were cool, but he wasn’t really fighting back. And won’t you get in trouble for doing magic?”

“I dunno. Maybe. You’re allowed to cast spells even in a Mug- normal area if you think your life is in danger. If Sirius Black shows up I’ve just got to be faster than him. If I see him coming, that is…” Harry wished the Dursleys hadn’t been so stubbornly combative with Mr. Parkinson. Maybe everything would have gone differently, and they wouldn’t be throwing him out of his home.

“Come with me,” Dudley said determinedly, and waddled to his room. Harry followed obediently. Dudley’s well-kept room overflowing with the latest electronics and toys reminded him painfully again of his second-class status with the Dursleys. He tried not to cry as bitterness and envy welled up within him. It wasn’t _fair_. He’d tried _so hard_.

Dudley rummaged in his sock drawer for some reason, then approached Harry with his hands behind his back. “Hey, they’ll look after you. The wizards,” he said, attempting to be gruffly comforting. “And if they don’t – here.” He held out his hands – there was a rolled up pair of striped red football socks in them.

“Socks?” Harry asked, very confused.

“ _Inside_ the socks, genius!” huffed Dudley impatiently.

Harry rummaged inside the balled up socks, and pulled out what looked like a black and steel folding knife of some kind.

“It’s a flick knife – a Milano stiletto - just press that button there, and the blade flicks out. Cool huh?!”

Dudley took it off Harry to demonstrate, and the blade whooshed out so fast Harry couldn’t even see where it came from. “See? The blade’s hidden inside the handle. You press on this tiny guard bit to unlock the knife so it’ll fold back down like this. And this little sliding button’s the safety, so don’t forget to move it down if you’re ready to fight, or the other way if you’re carrying it in your pocket. And you tell _no-one_ where you got it. Keep it hidden unless you really, really need it. Because it’s illegal. They’ll chuck you in jail just for _owning_ one of these beauties. And if you don’t use it I want it back in the holidays, if that guy gets caught. It cost me a bloody fortune.”

“Thanks Dudley,” Harry said, giving a surprised Dudley a big grateful grin. “You’re a legend. Honestly.”

“Well, it’s not like you’re going to be able to punch the guy out with those puny fists of yours,” Dudley said, embarrassedly resorting to insulting Harry. He tucked the knife back in the sock ball and handed it back to Harry. “You suck at boxing – my _punching bag_ hits back better than you do. And if you lose your magic wand you’re done for, it seems. But I bet a wizard won’t be expecting three inches of steel in his gut, right when he thinks he’s got you! BAM!!” he said excitedly, miming a stab.

“Okay, now get outta here, I’ve got to pack before mum comes to check on what we’re up to.” He punched Harry’s shoulder, making him stagger slightly.

Harry felt briefly cheered as he returned to his room. Maybe his Uncle didn’t care if he lived or died, but Dudley clearly did. And probably Aunt Petunia too, in her own way. He hadn’t missed that whispered exchange where she’d probably talked her husband into giving him some money for travel expenses. He probably _would_ be safer with his own kind, and his family would certainly be safer without him around. And maybe they didn’t deserve him bringing trouble to them like this – if it wasn’t for him they’d be able to have a normal life. It _was_ his fault, really. Wasn’t it? He couldn’t help it. He didn’t _want_ a murderer after him – he never asked for that!

He was distracted from his bitter musings when an owl arrived at his window with an official looking letter rolled up in a scroll, after he was back in his own room.

_“Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We have received intelligence that a Disarming Charm and a Summoning Charm were used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine._

_As you know, under-age wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Under-Age Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C)._

_We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity which risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offence, under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks’ Statue of Secrecy._

_Enjoy your holidays!_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

_Improper Use of Magic Office_

_Ministry of Magic”_

Harry sighed. Well, that would be a bureaucratic tangle to sort out later. He doubted anyone was working this late and responding so promptly – it was probably some kind of automated warning. He’d better be careful to avoid casting any spells unless he really thought his life was in danger, though. He vaguely recalled that there was some ruling that allowed for reasonable self-defence, but his response would be better if he could cite it.

He packed up his trunk and his backpack, and then sat on his bed with a deep sigh.

“ _They want me to leave. Tonight,_ ” he hissed to Storm sadly. “ _There’ss a wizard after me, Sssiriuss Black, and he’ss hunting for me – he wantss to kill me. He’ss the one who betrayed my parentss – got them killed. The Dursleyss don’t want to be attacked because they’re around me. So I’ve got to leave_.”

“ _Ssstaying in your burrow is sssafer if a predator is after you,_ ” said his snake. “ _Can’t you hide here?_ ”

“ _I can’t ssstay here. They’re leaving – for sssomewhere sssafer. I have to leave as well. But I’m not invited to go with them. Dudley gave me his knife to defend myself with though, which was nice of him._ ” He showed it off to Storm. “ _And I have to leave early – tonight._ ”

Storm liked the knife, and how fast the blade flicked out. “ _That’ss good. Your teeth aren’t very sharp, so that may help. But you are a Clever-man, and can use ssspellss to defend yourself. Where will you lair if your Elderss sssay you must leave this burrow to fend for yourself?_ ”

It was an excellent question. Hermione was in France. Pansy’s family was bunkering down with him unwelcome to join them, which was disappointing but understandable – it was a pity his aunt and uncle hadn’t just been more polite to Mr. Parkinson or maybe that would be different. Neville’s manor might be an option, but… did he really want to risk drawing Sirius Black to his friend’s house? With just Neville and his Gran there to fight, it might be dangerous for his friend if Black showed up.

He hid Storm in his long shirt sleeve, and kept thinking it over as he hefted his luggage downstairs. He asked his aunt if he could pack some food, and she said that he may as well take some of the perishables with him, so he stuffed his backpack full with a whole cold roast chicken, an unopened litre of orange juice, some of the leftover lemon meringue pie from dessert, and an assortment of fruit.

“Well, bye then,” he announced awkwardly.

“Good luck, Harry,” said Dudley.

“Bye,” his uncle grunted.

His aunt waved farewell to him with a tiny flutter of her hand. “Write and tell us when things are safe.”

 _That was kind_. “I will.”

He pondered his options some more as he walked down the street towards the park, getting a bit of distance before calling the Knight Bus as was his habit. He probably shouldn’t go to Neville’s. He knew Neville’s Gran hated spending money on things unless she had to. She probably wouldn’t want to pay for special wards. And he couldn’t afford to offer to pay for them. He didn’t want to be a burden, or get Neville in trouble with his Gran or that horrible Great-Uncle Algie because he showed up with no warning and made their family a target.

A rustling in the bushes at the side of the road had him dropping his trunk with a clatter and drawing his wand. He saw the gleam of the street lights reflected in the eyes of a large black dog, hiding behind an azalea bush.

“It’s a dog! I’m such an idiot!” He laughed with relief. “And here I thought you were Sirius Black, coming to kill me.” He put his wand away.

The dog whined pitifully, and wagged its tail as if to show it meant no harm. It cautiously stepped out from the bushes, and he saw it was a very large but scrawny looking black dog, with its long fur all tangled and matted. It wagged its tail and advanced warily, sniffing the air.

“Smell the chicken, do you?” said Harry, pleased to have something to focus on other than his own dark thoughts. “Well, I hope you’re more polite than Ripper is. If you go for my backpack, I _will_ have to try and hurt you,” he said warningly, “but if you’re a good boy and _sit_ , I’ll give you a drumstick, how about that?”

The dog barked happily and sat down, getting a chicken leg for its good behaviour.

“No home, huh?” Harry said, noting the lack of a collar as well as its dishevelled appearance. “I don’t have one either right now. Well, no family.”

A sad whine came from the black dog, as it briefly paused in crunching up the chicken. “Yeah, it sucks. My parents died years ago, but my uncle and aunt? Just kicked me out tonight.”

The dog let out a short bark. “They’re scared of being attacked. But me? I’m supposed to fend for myself it seems. Some family, huh?” The dog let out a soft growl, and Harry warily offered it some more chicken, which seemed to settle it down. “It’s not so bad. It’s better than it used to be. They might not buy me new clothes like Dudley gets, but at least I have my own bedroom now, instead of having to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, and more regular meals these days than I think _you’ve_ been getting, you poor fellow.” He tentatively reached out to pat the dog, which was watching him intently, almost like it was listening carefully.

“Are you scared of being patted? Did you have a bad family? I don’t like being hugged, still. Hermione tries to hug me sometimes, and it’s really weird. Neville’s a bit the same, I think – he doesn’t get a lot of affection at home either. And of course, she’s a girl! So that makes it awkward too. You’re a _good boy_ , yes you are. Much nicer than Aunt Marge’s nasty dog Ripper. Your fur’s a bit yucky though, but I guess you can’t help that. Storm isn’t really interested in being patted, unless he’s cold and my hands are warm.”

Harry kept pondering his options as he cautiously patted the scruffy homeless dog. He didn’t want to risk _any_ of his friends’ lives. Even Draco’s family, who surely would have the money for wards. His cousin Narcissa and Draco were both nice, but who knows whose side Draco’s father would fall down on if Sirius attacked – they were _both_ Death Eaters once, it was said. Maybe it would be best if he just went and hid somewhere on his own. Diagon Alley? Too expensive, and likely to put people at risk, and too easy for Black to find him. A Muggle motel would be too pricey for him too. Of course, he did have an actual home of his own he could go to! With a house-elf to fuss over him, no less. Dobby could fetch groceries for him so there wouldn’t be a chance of being spotted by Black, and the house _already_ had wards!

The dog sniffed at his sleeve, and Harry jerked his arm away from it. “No! Bad dog!” It whined sadly at the rebuke.

“Oh, I’m sorry, but if it’s the snake you smell, he’s supposed to be there, he’s a friend. I can’t let you bite Storm. You’re a _good boy_ , really. Here, have the last of the chicken.” It gobbled up the last bits of the carcass, crunching through the bones contentedly with its powerful jaws. “Are you sure you’re supposed to eat the chicken bones? I’m not sure they’re good for dogs, now I think about it. Whoops.” The dog ignored him and kept eating.

“So since you don’t have a home either, what do you say, do you want to come hide out at Potter Cottage with me, boy?”

The dog snarled with a suddenly wild look in its eyes, and Harry backed away from it slowly, tucking his hands away so it wouldn’t go for them. “It’s alright, you’re a _good boy_. Easy now.” It started barking frantically, and biting at thin air like there were enemies there that no-one but it could see, whirling about like it was having some kind of fit, and Harry decided it was time to move on. He grabbed his trunk and bag, and called the Knight Bus. He left the dog to scurry back into the bushes as it snapped out of its fit at the noise of the bus as it pulled up at the kerb, and he headed off for Potter Cottage. Poor old crazy dog – that was no doubt why it was homeless. Well, the dog had been a bit scary at the end there, and probably wouldn’t get on well with Storm anyway. He was better off without it as a pet. It wasn’t like he could take it to Hogwarts with him.

-000-

Potter Cottage looked much nicer than when he’d first dropped Dobby off there. The grass was trimmed short, and you could see there were some rosebushes near the front of the house in some bare garden beds that had clearly recently been stripped of all their weeds.

Dobby was ecstatic that “Master Potter” had come to stay and be looked after, and popped away to get the master bedroom ready for him. The kitchen was looking sparkling clean, and Harry unpacked the food onto the recently scrubbed table. When he went upstairs, the bed had fresh sheets that smelled faintly of lavender, the room was free from dust, and there were some lit candles on the bedside tables that gave a cheering soft orange glow to the room. The flickering dim light was soothing, and reminded him of his comfortable bed at Hogwarts – so much less lumpy than the one at Privet Drive. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay here after all. It wasn’t as creepy as he’d feared it might be.

“Is there anything else Dobby can do for Master Potter?” the little house-elf asked with happy wide eyes.

“Can you put the food away I left downstairs on the table, if it’s not too much trouble? The pie and juice will need to go into the fri- ice-box.”

Dobby’s ears drooped. “Is that all? Dobby could do more.”

Harry yawned. “Uh, you want more work?”

Dobby nodded excitedly. “House-elves be needing work. Dobby is happy to be here, but there is not much work to do.”

“Uh, I guess you can make sure all my clothes are clean. Some need washing. And tomorrow you can pack away my parents’ clothes from the wardrobe, and hang my things up instead.”

Dobby nodded. “Yes Master Potter!” But he didn’t leave.

“Look, I’m tired Dobby, so we’ll talk more tomorrow about stuff. And uh, keep an eye out for Sirius Black. If he comes, wake me right away then get some Aurors. Don’t let him in, or tell anyone else I’m here – I’m hiding from him.” Harry put his wand on the bedside table within easy reach, and settled down to sleep.

Harry didn’t want to get out of bed the next morning – but it was hard to lie there and brood and feel sorry for himself with Dobby’s wide eyes watching him from startlingly nearby the bed, joyfully awaiting some commands instructing him on what he could do for Master Potter. So instead he kept himself too busy to dwell on his troubles, as he directed Dobby in various chores, and did some gardening himself in the more private back yard while Dobby was off buying groceries and fetching some freshly picked blackberries from the grounds of Potter Manor. After explaining over lunch (which was insistently made by Dobby) that he wasn’t gardening because he was _unhappy_ with the quality of Dobby’s work, he settled down for the afternoon writing a letter to Mafalda Hopkirk of the Improper Use of Magic Office. He hadn’t found where he’d read about the self-defence clause (it must have been in a library book), but he thought he’d better send a letter sooner rather than later, so he laboured over it with the help of a dictionary and a book on wizarding etiquette to add in some extra formality.

_“Dear Madam Hopkirk,_

_I must sincerely apologise for my recent unnecessary use of a Disarming and a Summoning Charm yesterday evening. I am aware of the Reasonable Restriction of Under-Age Sorcery, however, in my defence I must say that at the time I cast those spells, I was in fear for my life and the lives of my family. I believe there is a clause permitting under-age wizards to cast spells in dire emergencies, and I acted in the fullest belief that I was in such a circumstance. For I rushed downstairs as my aunt yelled in fear for help, and unexpectedly found a strange wizard with his wand drawn on my uncle. I disarmed him, and upon discussion discovered he was merely a visitor, and the argument and misunderstanding was soon resolved peacefully._

_I hope you understand that with reports circulating of Sirius Black having recently escaped from Azkaban many wizards and witches, not least myself, will be jumpier than usual. While I erred in my actions, I cannot in good conscience say that I would act any differently should I in the future be similarly startled. There were no other magically talented adults who were available to lend aid – I was my family’s sole defence, and being but a student and not as skilled as a trained and fearsome wizard such as Mr. Black, I knew my only hope of success was to act swiftly._

_I would thus most humbly ask that this warning be struck from my record, as I acted (albeit mistakenly) in a situation of reasonable self-defence, and would also ask that consideration be shown if I in the future act with similar panicked desperation until such time as the criminal in question is apprehended. I will not of course be casting spells for the whim of the moment, nor for personal study, merely out of the most dire need._

_Should no understanding be shown, and it be judged necessary in the future that I be expelled from Hogwarts, I would appreciate prompt notice of this so that I may inform all my varied acquaintances of that circumstance and transfer my enrolment to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in time for the start of the new school year._

_I remain, Madam, your faithful and obedient servant,_

_Harold James Potter_

_Heir of the Noble House of Potter”_

He was reasonably happy with his letter. It hinted that he’d thought his visitor was Sirius Black, giving him an excellent reason to be so trigger-happy with his wand, without outright lying to say so. It also hopefully implied, as politely as he could manage, that he’d gossip about Ms. Hopkirk’s lack of understanding if she didn’t let him off the hook.

And he really _could_ go to Beauxbatons if he was expelled, especially now he was good at French. (He’d tested himself by reading some of the Smeltings French textbooks – the magic potion had worked _perfectly_.) So that should nip in the bud any suggestion that he’d need his wand snapped and mind tampered with to erase his knowledge of magic, which would be _horrible_. Dobby popped away to drop the letter off at an owl office for him.

Sunset brought a flurry of owls to Potter Cottage, though they appeared unable to pass the boundary fence, which Harry thought a delightful demonstration of the strength of the property’s own wards. Dobby went out to collect all the mail from them and got a couple of angry pecks for his trouble, though he swore he didn’t mind.

Dumbledore had written insisting that Harry tell him where he was _immediately_ , and why he’d left the safety of his family’s care (hah!). Harry got Dobby to burn the letter (in case it was enchanted with something). He wondered how Dumbledore had found out so quickly that he’d left Privet Drive. It didn’t sound like his aunt had written to him, or he wouldn’t be asking why Harry had left.

Neville had written asking where he was too, and that Dumbledore had come looking at Longbottom Manor for Harry, and was he alright? Harry scrawled a quick note to say he was fine, and hiding out somewhere secret where he hoped Sirius Black wouldn’t find him so no-one would get hurt, and that he’d see him for a visit as planned at the end of August for their H.E.L.P. Society meeting, unless he and his Gran thought it was too dangerous – could he ask please? Dobby gave it to the Longbottom owl, who left with a triumphant kind of hoot as some of the other lingering owls watched jealously and awaited their turn to collect a response.

Snape had written him a blistering letter full of insults on his abysmal level of alleged intelligence in leaving Privet Drive without telling anyone where he was going, and complaining about the sleepless night he’d just had combing Little Whinging in search of Harry’s mangled corpse. Harry felt kind of bad about that, but a little _less_ bad after re-reading the bit about his “arrogant lack of concern for anyone but yourself”. Why, he was hiding out _because_ he cared about not endangering others. He wrote a terse letter saying so, and that he was alive, and not at all mangled or dead, but thanks for checking.

McGonagall’s formal letter was almost as bossy as Dumbledore’s, if sounding more genuinely worried. (Though perhaps he was being a bit biased.) She got a briefly reassuring reply too. Not that it was really any of her business where he was either, but he guessed it was nice people cared enough to worry. But he still wasn’t telling _anyone_ where he was – did no-one grasp how “hiding out” was supposed to work?

Daphne wrote to say that Pansy had Flooed over to visit her and complain about Fumble-more. He’d visited this morning, and her whole family was still fuming about it. Dumber-bore had said Snape thought he might be hiding there. Pansy wasn’t allowed to write to Harry at the moment, so Daphne was relaying her wishes that he stay as safe as he could, and keep his wand ready. She got a nice letter back from Harry too, with a message to relay to Pansy.

Madam Hopkirk had sent an apologetic notice that his “first offense” was now noted in his record as being excused, given the extenuating circumstances. Good! There were only two extra letters today, one from a gentleman politely hinting that he wanted to know why Harry was in Gryffindor if he was really the Heir of Slytherin, and asking what his plans were (he had no idea what to say to a letter like that). The second one was from a witch asking if he had any connections at the Ministry to help her kick out a troublesome tenant who let ducks walk inside her house making a mess of the floors, and who was refusing to vacate the property (no, but he wished her well).

The next day was another quiet one, and he was prompted again to get out of bed by Dobby’s hovering presence, and was interrupted whenever he was just sitting quietly and doing nothing but brooding and feeling sorry for himself. It was hard to be sad with a house-elf around who was thrilled at your existence and desperate to spend time with you. He chatted with Storm too, which was helpful. His snake held the matter-of-fact view that kicking you out when you were grown enough to fend for yourself was just what parents did. It reminded Harry that he _was_ thirteen now, and really quite capable of looking after himself. He could cook and clean (well, if Dobby wouldn’t cry or bash his head on a wall), and bills weren’t a big problem in a house with no electricity that he owned outright. The Dursleys might let him go back home when Sirius was caught, anyway. No need to panic yet – he could cope with being alone for just a couple of weeks. And maybe… maybe he didn’t _want_ to go back. They could’ve taken him overseas too, then they _all_ would have been safe. They’d be sorry one day when the renowned surgeon Dr. Potter drove slowly down Privet Drive in his new BMW, on his way to Wisteria Walk just to talk to Mrs. Figg and catch up about old times. He didn’t even have to do any chores he didn’t want to, with Dobby around. He was doing _great_ right now, thank you very much.

Harry and Dobby went more thoroughly over the Cottage and picked things to pack away, and re-organised cupboards. After lunch he directed Dobby in what to change or clean, and mentioned how he’d like Dobby to look into building a little fish pond in the back garden for Storm, if he ran out of tasks to do. And a vegetable garden. Eventually, they went up into the old nursery, when they’d gone over all the other rooms. It was less traumatic than the last time he’d visited. The hole in the roof was gone, though the architecture looked strange in there now.

“What happened to the hole?” asked Harry. “The roof and the wall to the outside look kind of warped, like the whole house has been pinched by a giant hand to close the hole up.”

Dobby pulled at his ears anxiously. “Dobby did the best he could, Master Harry. Dobby didn’t have any materials to work with.” Harry had gotten him to drop “Master Potter”, but using only his first name was proving to be a stumbling block.

“That’s fine, it’s alright, you did great Dobby,” soothed Harry. “The curtains are all clean, and I can see you even got the mould off the books somehow. It looks pretty great in here now.” Harry’s eye drifted to the round hooked rug under the cot which still looked filthy and mouldy, looking worse now in contrast to the clean cot and polished wooden floor.

The house-elf’s gaze followed his, and he started banging his head against the wall. “ _Bad_ Dobby! Dobby couldn’t clean it! Not without breaking Master’s rules!”

“What have I said about hurting yourself! Stop it _this instant_!” said Harry in the firm voice that tended to work best with him. “I’ll help you clean it, alright? It just needs a wash, or we can throw it out if the stains are too stubborn.”

Dobby shook his head over and over. “’Tis spelled to the floor, Master Harry sir,” he explained. “Stuck like burnt sugar. You said not to disturb any wards or magic things, so Dobby left it be.”

Harry gingerly crept into the room, and tugged at an edge of the mouldy round rug. It stayed stuck to the floor like it had been superglued there. “Huh.” When night fell and his snake woke up, he brought Storm to inspect the area.

“ _It is ssspecial,_ ” said Storm, which Harry had learnt was his way of saying “I sense magic”. “ _Like my rock. I like it here. Move my home here so I can sssleep here in the sssunlight hourss._ ”

“ _I don’t know what magic is under the rug,_ ” hissed Harry apologetically, “ _so it might be too dangerouss for you. Best to leave it alone until I know whether it’s sssomething the Dark Lord did, or magical residue. Or it might be sssomething my parents did, or maybe accidental magic from when I was a baby. I just don’t know._ ”

Storm sulked unhappily all evening, and refused to get off the rug until tempted with a live baby mouse that Dobby found for him. For the rest of the holidays Harry knew to look for him in the nursery on that grotty rug if he ever couldn’t find where he’d sneakily slithered off to. Harry was desperately curious to know what was under the rug, and why it was stuck to the floor, but didn’t want to try ripping the rug to pieces, and knew he wasn’t supposed to use magic over the holidays – he didn’t want another warning letter if he could help it. He did pry at some of the strands of the rug where there was a little gap in the weave where the fabric was especially mouldy and rotten, and he was just able to make out most of a rune carved directly onto the wooden floorboards underneath the rug. It looked a bit like a simplified trident, like a capital Y with an extra line forking out at the top.

He looked it up in one of his parents’ old books about runes, finding what looked like the right one in an old runes dictionary.

“’ _Algiz,’_ ” he read out aloud to Storm. “’ _In Elder Futhark and Anglo-Saxon Futhorc it is associated with the elk, sssedge and rushes, defence, and protection. Reversed in the Younger Futhark it is associated with yew. Algiz is a ssstrong rune for cleansing enchantmentss and protective warding. Itss Elemental affinities are water and air. It is also known as Elhaz. Or Eolh, in Anglo-Saxon Futhorc.’_

_“Then there’ss a sssection recommending sssimilar runes to look at, including Maðr and Yr from Younger Furthark._

_“The last bit for each rune in the dictionary is their poem or poemss. It sssays that for Algiz, its Anglo-Saxon Futhorc rune poem is the ssstrongest magically associated poem._

_“’The Elk-sedge usually livess in the fen,_

_growing in the water. It woundss ssseverely,_

_ssstaining with blood any man_

_who makess a grab at it._ ’”

Looking up the cross-references was interesting, but a bit confusing.

Yr was the reversed rune, like an upside down version of Algiz, and was associated with yew, and bows, and made a good “grounding” rune due to its elemental affinity of earth. He had been reading it in one direction, but wasn’t sure if you were meant to be reading it from the centre of the rug where the crib was, or from the outside looking inwards.

“ _I don’t sssee how yew or bowss would be terribly helpful or relevant in a protective ssspell, which surely is what is under the rug, so I think it probably isn’t that rune. The poemss for it ssseem more helpfully protective, though, if opposite in meaning. The Old Norse poem is supposed to be all about survival._

_“‘Yew is the greenest of treess in winter; it is wont to crackle when it burnss.’”_

“ _And here’s the Icelandic one,_ ” Harry said to his patiently listening snake, “ _which is about either death or failure, apparently._ ”

_“’Bent bow, and brittle iron, and giant of the arrow.’”_

“ _Iron is the bad metal, the one you ssstay away from?_ ” asked Storm.

“ _So they sssay. It’s sssupposed to be bad for magic._ ”

Maðr from the Younger Futhark looked like the other option for what it could be, which carried the somewhat different meaning of “man, family, or protection”. It had a different rune poem too, which he read to Storm, who was happy to listen to anything so long as he wasn’t shooed off the rug like usual.

_“The joyouss man is dear to his kinsmen;_

_yet every man is doomed to fail his fellow,_

_sssince the Lord by his decree_

_will commit the vile carrion to the earth.”_

Harry hummed thoughtfully. “ _Well, oddss ssseem good that whichever one it is, it was part of a protective runic enchantment or ward. And the magic clearly isn’t likely to be coming from anything the Dark Lord did directly. Perhapss it’ss part of how I sssurvived the killing curse. I found the rune carving kit in my mother’ss bedside, so it was probably her doing. But even if I could sssee the rest of the runess I doubt I’d be able to figure more than that out. Maybe in a few yearss I could do better._ ”

“ _Sssecret Elder business,_ ” said Storm agreeably. “ _Don’t worry about it while you’re a hatchling._ ”

 _Hmph_. What he really needed was a trustworthy adult wizard or witch to help him figure out how to see what was under the rug without disturbing things, and what it all meant. Sadly, in the wake of his suspicions about Quirrell, he didn’t feel anyone truly fit that criteria. Notwithstanding Dumble-bore’s increasingly strident letters insisting that Harry could trust him with the secret of where he was hiding and needed adult supervision, preferably back at home. Harry thought he was doing _just fine_ on his own – he wasn’t a _child_ , he was thirteen now! Professors McGonagall and Snape had slightly better success, and between the nagging from both of them Harry eventually agreed to having someone meet him at the Leaky Cauldron in a couple of weeks’ time to guard him while he did his school shopping, and to escort him to his visit at Longbottom Manor. Neville’s grandmother had written to him to tell him not to be ridiculous. She wrote that she’d lived through a lot worse than one crazy wizard acting on his own, and that their manor’s wards were more than adequate to the task of keeping Black at bay. In any case, the Aurors were only a Floo call away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Trivia time! I learnt while researching for this chapter that you shouldn’t feed your dog chicken bones, especially cooked ones. While many dogs will be fine (especially larger dogs), the sharp splinters of bone can sometimes be extremely dangerous to their innards.
> 
> Question for my readers! TorRae (guest) mentioned in their review what they’d like to see more of in this story, including a lot more details about what he’s studying (included his advanced studies, healing magic, and subjects like Ancient Runes), working on special abilities (e.g. being a suspected Metamorphmagus), and more of Storm! What would you all like to see more of?
> 
> TorRae also asked about Technomancy. I name dropped this aaaages ago in "A New Kind of Normal". But to be honest with you all, it has never been intended to be anything more than background flavour. It's there to show that other places in the world (such as in Japan at the Mahoutokoro School of Magic) have different areas of study at their schools, and that the European schools don't focus on this possible area of magical development (and that some cultures may view them as culturally/technologically lagging behind). I'm not planning to develop this idea in any depth in this particular series.
> 
> FireRuby (guest) – Thanks for your reviews!
> 
> Kitty and Ibskib – Thanks again to you both for keeping an eye out for typos and other errors as you’ve been reading through the series. Polite corrections are always welcome.


	5. The H.E.L.P. Society

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August passes with a lot of reading and pottering around Potter Cottage. The founding members of the H.E.L.P. Society (minus Ron) meet at Longbottom Manor.

**_August, 1993_ **

August passed pleasantly enough at Potter Cottage, and he tried to stay busy to stave off his more melancholy moments. He read a lot of Defence and Charms books, swotting up just in case of a surprise attack by the damnable Sirius Black. But there was no sign of the man, and the biggest fight he faced was with Dobby over how he may _not_ sleep in the pantry cupboard in the kitchen. Harry was furious when he discovered that’s where he’d been sleeping. _He_ was not going to be like the Dursleys. Never, never, never! It was bad enough he’d had to hide Storm’s tank in his cupboard at Privet Drive – the necessity had made him feel sick at times.

After Dobby’s sobbing tears and self-recriminations for angering his Master, Harry apologised to Dobby (which didn’t help) and sympathised with how Dobby felt unworthy of having the nursery for a room (which helped a lot more). A whole room to himself was too much for the little house-elf. Baby steps. He’d help him learn how to be more free – he did really _want_ to, he just found it a little scary at times. After the argument and tears were done with, they compromised amicably enough by doing up a corner of the attic as a pleasant enough little home for Dobby, with some old sheets hung up from the rafters as makeshift walls, and Harry’s old cot mattress for a bed.  

Whenever he started feeling too rejected and alone, there was always Storm or Dobby to talk to, and when he felt trapped by having to hide indoors all the time for fear of Sirius Black he went out into the back yard to work off his anger and fear digging up the ground for a vegetable garden. He had some seed potatoes in the ground now, peas planted along the back fence, and rows of carrot seeds that should hopefully sprout in a few weeks. Dobby promised to tend the seedlings while he was at school, and they had some nice non-stressful chats about gardening.

Gardening was good stress relief, but mostly he spent his time reading and studying. He revised the third year Charms text and while he didn’t have the other third year textbooks yet, he had plenty of his parents’ old books full of advanced spells. And of course when he wanted a break from studying, there were some new books he’d been given as birthday gifts.

He read _Modern Magical World History_ (that Tracey had sent him) cover to cover – it was fantastic! He wondered if Binns knew any of the stuff in it – he bet he didn’t. He was tempted to ask, but didn’t want the trouble and attention that would garner.

Another new book he read through was _The Knights of Walpurgis_ from Mr. Malfoy, which was a relatively slim and interesting booklet by an anonymous author that rambled on about a mix of topics, including thoughts on political reform and advocating religious freedom for the old wizarding traditions. It advocated a strong isolationist stance in regards to Muggles, and restricting influx of Muggle-borns to those who proved their intent to assimilate. There was a _lot_ of stuff advocating increased religious freedom for the Old Ways and encouraging suppression of the encroaching Christian beliefs (the enemy of witches and wizards for millennia). And lastly there were calls for “all thinking wizards and witches” to support the author’s call for political reform. It sounded a bit overly optimistic and idealistic to Harry. There were a lot of complaints about oppression and bigotry, and the Ministry being a corrupt plutocracy where money and connections meant more than magic. It generally seemed to advocate a stripped down government with less bureaucracy, with an awful lot of admiration for the old Roman republic.

Harry found one part especially interesting, where the author talked about how wizards and witches were in fact a completely different race to Muggles.

_“Some say that magic is in our blood. You cannot see it, much as one cannot see the honey dissolved in a cup of tea, but its sweetness runs through our veins. Makes us different, special. The Old legends say we are not kin to Muggles, but a different people altogether – a magical race. Similar but different, much as Veela often look like us, yet are their own race of Beings. Water it down too much and our people lose their power, much as the Veela do when they intermingle with other races._

_To turn your back on magic and betray it, that fundamental part of us that makes us unique, should be as inconceivable as disowning your own blood. One cannot live without it! We are not Muggles. We are Beings of Magic. We must honour our nature, not scorn or dismiss it, and we must give back to the Magic that sustains us.”_

He wasn’t sure if it was true or not, but it was an interesting theory, and had him digging out his biology textbooks to double-check the difference between species and race, and heritability of traits. He wondered if anything would show up as different with genetic testing of wizards and Muggles.

-000-

At the start of the last week of August Harry reviewed his book list in preparation for his outing to Diagon Alley. After his written negotiations with McGonagall were completed it had been agreed that she and an Auror named Kingsley Shacklebolt were going to accompany him around Diagon Alley while he did his shopping for school, and then would Side-Along-Apparate him to Longbottom Manor.

Harry already owned and had read _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3_ multiple times, so jotted down on his list that he should buy the Grade 4 book instead. He loved being a year ahead in Charms. He’d also need _Intermediate Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch, and _The Essential Defence Against the Dark Arts._ He’d read some of that second book already thanks to the Hogwarts library, and as it was quite good Harry thought it boded well for the quality of DADA teaching this year. _The Monster Book of Monsters_ , _Ancient Runes Made Easy_ by Lauren Zoo, and _Rune Dictionary_ by Merge Publications finished off his list of books. He also thought that if there was a nice book about how to build a garden pond that didn’t end up as a mud puddle he might grab a book on that too – he and Dobby hadn’t had much luck with their pond building so far as neither of them really had any idea what they were doing.

Harry took the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley and was met at the _Leaky Cauldron_ by Professor McGonagall, who was accompanied by an imposingly tall, dark-skinned man wearing some kind of African style tunic and trousers. He had a fez, rather than a pointed wizard’s hat, perched on top of his bald head.

Professor McGonagall hugged Harry, and then scolded him for running off and hiding. Harry didn’t think he deserved either of those reactions, and stood rather stiffly while she lectured him. At least she was quieter about it than Aunt Petunia. When she started winding down, Harry took his cue to apologise, “I’m so very sorry to have worried you so much, Professor. I just wanted to keep everyone safe.”

The first part was a half-truth at best, but the latter part was mostly true. He had also been hiding out of sheer necessity – the Dursleys hadn’t left him any other choice than to fend for himself. Not that he really wanted people to know that – he hadn’t admitted it to Professor McGonagall _or_ Professor Snape in his letters. He thought maybe he would tell Neville. Neville knew how to keep quiet, and wouldn’t lecture him or think it was all his fault.

“However admirable your intentions, your execution leaves much to be desired. But enough of that for now,” said McGonagall, “let’s not quarrel. Where shall we head first for your shopping?”

Harry pulled out his sheet of parchment with his list. “I thought _Flourish and Blotts_ first for books, then to _Twilfitt and Tattings_ to order some new dress robes. I have a gift certificate for that from my birthday. I’ll also need to stop by the jeweller at 92 Diagon Alley to get my dad’s watch repaired – Neville’s family is paying for that as a birthday gift.”

“Just dress robes? Do you need to stop by _Madam Malkin’s_ for some new Hogwarts work robes?”

“No, ma’am. Last year’s still fit.” Mindful of the need to budget his remaining funds, he’d tried on last year’s plain black robes at the Cottage, and decided they’d probably do for another year. Though he did have his eagerly industrious house-elf let down the hems at the bottom, and at the sleeves. There was only a little extra fabric there, but it should be enough to get another year’s wear out of his work robes.

“I do want to stop by _Gladrags Wizardwear_ for some new boots, however, and a casual robe or two.” His boots from first year had been bought with a little room to grow, but were pinching pretty badly now. He’d need to stop by for some new ones – he loved those boots. He had a pair of sneakers that still fit (having been much too big for him at Christmas a couple of years ago), but would rather have boots. Sneakers with robes looked kind of ridiculous, and he didn’t want to stand out.

“And I’ve got some old first year uniforms in my trunk. I thought I might see if I can sell them, so maybe we could stop by the _The Junk Shop_ at some point?” They’d looked ridiculously small when he tried them on. He hoped he might be able to get a little extra spending money from selling them.

“We shall stop there first then to free up space in your trunk, followed by Gringotts, then begin working through your list,” said his Professor.

The trip around Diagon Alley went smoothly and without incident. While Shacklebolt’s looming presence was a bit intimidating, at least it was intimidating on _his_ side. A few fans were dissuaded from approaching him as the Auror interposed himself between Harry and them when they tried to approach him.

“You can’t be too careful,” he explained afterwards, in a calm, deep voice with a refined BBC English accent, rather than the African accent Harry had unconsciously expected based on his unusual clothes. “I’m afraid I won’t be letting anyone approach you today, just in case they’re under the Imperius Curse. I won’t have any trouble on _my_ watch.”

Harry got a little money for his old robes and boots at the _The Junk Shop_ , and he haggled upwards a little after seeing the storekeeper Mr. Quincey’s eyes widen when he realized _whose_ robes they were. At _Flourish and Blotts_ , Harry advised the harried looking manager to cast the Incarcerous Spell on the unruly _Monster Books_ , as well as trying to contact the publisher to ask how to handle them. His advice earned him a ten per cent discount on all his purchases for the day, which he greatly appreciated. He added _Bringing Magic into your Garden_ to his basket of books after finding some notes in it on how to build a pond to attract Imperial Dragonflies.

Going to _Twilfitt and Tattings_ was an experience – it was even posher than _Gladrags_ _Wizardwear_. He enjoyed some complimentary tea and delicate flaky pastries while browsing through a book of fabric samples, and chatted to the tailor about how the colours made him feel, his Hogwarts House, colours and motifs in his family crest, and whether he preferred traditional or modern styles of robes. That last question had far more detailed discussion of fashion than he knew how to keep up with. The tailor didn’t make him feel pressured and stressed to come up with answers though – he guided him through the conversation smoothly and moved on when it transpired that he had no preferences apart from things like “not too much lace”. Kingsley stayed on alert and watched passers-by through the leaded glass window, while McGonagall ignored the whole business and drank tea (served by a self-pouring enchanted teapot) while reading a complimentary copy of the _Daily Prophet._ She clearly found fashion dull.

Eventually the tailor narrowed down what kind of robes Harry wanted. “So sir would prefer a classic, traditional style of robe,” summarised the tailor, “that is popular and fashionable but _not_ innovative, nor designed to draw unwanted attention. Serious and mature in style, rather than whimsically youthful. No lace, peacocks, flowers, or any animated designs at all, no pink or any exceptionally bright colours, and not too much green.”

Harry thought it over. “Yes, that about sums it up. With room to grow or to let the hems down next year, please. And I want to be able to move and run easily, and cast spells in them if I have to. Oh, and if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like a little pocket or two for my pet snake to curl up in, and room to store my wand of course like robes usually have. Umm… you’re not scared of snakes are you?”

“No sir, not unless they are venomous or larger than myself,” the tailor said with equanimity. “Might I also suggest that we have a proprietary sartorial enchantment available at _Twilfitt and Tattings_ that we can add to robes to repel owl… leavings, and I am sure it can be adapted to suit your familiar, to keep your robes in pristine condition at all times. Purely as a precautionary measure.”

Storm was fished out of his robe pocket to be admired, and quietly measured. Then it was Harry’s turn, and he changed into a short “under-robe” in their changing room, for ease of accurate measuring of his proportions. Harry liked that the tailor just jotted down measurements, rather than reading them aloud for Professor McGonagall to hear. It seemed considerate. He guessed some female customers might be especially appreciative of such a habit.

Given Harry’s vague understanding of what he liked, and that he was a new client without much of a history of selecting robe styles, the tailor offered to owl him three hand-drawn designs for consideration, after which he could select his preferred choice. His robes would then be “personally tailored by hand”, and owled out to him at Hogwarts.

The last stop was returning to the jeweller’s to pick up his dad’s watch (now running smoothly, he was pleased to note), and then they farewelled Auror Shacklebolt. Professor McGonagall took him to Longbottom Manor via the stomach-churning method of Side-Along-Apparition.

Harry scowled when, moments after arriving there, Professor McGonagall informed him that he would be staying at Longbottom Manor for the remaining week of the holidays. He’d been hiding out just fine on his own, and told her that stubbornly.

“Be that as it may, Mr. Potter, we cannot in good conscience allow a child in danger from a _wanted Death Eater_ to remain living on his own in a hotel or wherever it is you were. Here you are, and here you shall remain. It is for your own good, so please don’t scowl so about it.” She rapped smartly with the door knocker on the front door of the imposingly large multi-storied manor (which Harry thought looked a bit like an old temple with lots of pillars at the front), and handed him over into the dubiously tender care of Augusta Longbottom before Apparating away.

“I don’t want to be a bother. I’ll just catch the Knight Bus home when I’ve finished my visit,” he said to Neville’s grandmother, after doffing his hat and kissing her hand in greeting.

“You will do no such thing,” she insisted sternly. “You will be much better taken care of here, rather than under the lax oversight of Muggles. I am sure there has been some kind of gross mismanagement on their part, to reduce you to hiding out on your own. We shall arrange to have your luggage collected this afternoon. Now, my grandson and Miss Granger are awaiting your presence in the tablinum.” Main reception room, Harry’s mind translated for him from the Latin.

“Jipley!” Mrs. Longbottom called sharply, and a curly-haired male house-elf in a dark red toga popped into the room. “Please take Mr. Potter’s hat and cloak, then show him to the tablinum.” She swept away imperiously, leaving him in the hands of her house-elf, which was trusting of her. He was tempted to run for it, before he got trapped here for a whole week. But he supposed she must be confident in her wards. Clearly he wasn’t imposing on their hospitality – she didn’t seem the shy and retiring type who would be afraid to kick him out if his presence was a problem.

The house-elf worried over the state of his boots and the possibility of them soiling the manor, and with a snap of his fingers they were clean. He also insisted on Harry’s trunk full of shopping being left behind. “Jipley will take it to Mr. Potter sir’s room.” Harry sighed and gave in.

The fussy house-elf walked him through the atrium, which was a square room with a gap in the roof open to the sky in the centre, with a shallow rectangular pool inset into the floor below where the rainwater collected. Two graceful marble statues of unicorns flanked the pool, heads dipped as if to drink from it. The walls of the room were lavishly decorated with decoratively intricate painted patterns.

There were a number of doors leading off to either side, and a staircase heading up to a second story, but Jipley led him straight ahead to a pair of curtains which he drew aside to reveal Neville lounging in a comfortable chair while Hermione sat at a desk. A wizened old elf in a toga sat on a stool next to Hermione.

“Hi guys!” said Harry happily.

“Hi Harry! It’s great to see you. Now we can start the H.E.L.P. Society meeting properly!” said Hermione.

“Hello!” Neville said, glancing around to make sure his Gran wasn’t watching before giving Harry a casual wave rather than standing up to do a formal bow of greeting.

“You brought another house-elf? Is this Dobby?” asked Hermione.

Neville answered before Harry could, “No he’s ours too. This is Jipley. And our third and last house-elf Sooky works in the kitchens - she’s nervous around visitors. Can you stay to talk with us Jipley?”

“Yes, young Master, if you wish. Jipley will need to be fetching refreshments for young Master and his guests soon, but Jipley can does that later.”

“What’s through the wooden screen?” Harry asked curiously, looking around the room.

“Oh, that folds to one side – through there is a _very_ pretty garden, enclosed by more of the manor,” volunteered Hermione. “The house is kind of shaped like a blocky digital number eight, with a pool and a garden in the holes of the eight.”

“The garden is the peristylium,” clarified Neville. “I’ve mostly planted it out with flowering plants and scented herbs, for Gran. It’s really nothing special. The greenhouses are more interesting.”

“Nothing special? It’s amazing!” said Hermione, folding the screen out of the way so Harry could admire the sight. White marble columns edged the large rectangular garden, which was filled with masses of flowers of all kinds and colours. There were tall spikes of tiny lavender flowers, elegant yellow calla lilies large enough for fairies to flit inside to hide in, scented deep red roses, and clusters of daisies and white musk mallows waving gently in the breeze. Fairies and butterflies flitted amongst the flowers, and a pebbled path wound through the garden to a small ornamental bridge which straddled a tiny pond filled with water lilies and edged by ferns and moss-covered rocks. Enclosing it on all sides was more of Longbottom Manor – it was a private hidden oasis in the middle of the building.

Harry complimented it enthusiastically, but trailed off when he noticed that Neville, while pleased, looked very embarrassed. “Uh, so… can I let Storm out to explore if he wants to wake up? Do you mind if he hunts for tadpoles or fish?”

“That will be fine. But tell him to watch out for the fairies. They have a nasty bite if you disturb them.”

Harry hissed instructions to Storm, who was happy to wake up in the middle of the day if it meant there were some tadpoles in it for him. Neville was pronounced to be another favourite of Harry’s friends. _He’s so fickle_ , Harry thought fondly.

“I say, he really has grown since you got him, hasn’t he!” said Neville.

“He’s shed his skin a few times now,” replied Harry. “I guess he’s maybe fifty or sixty centimetres long now?”

“What?”

 _Oh right, Imperial measurements for wizards_ , Harry thought. “Uh, about two feet long?”

Both the elderly head house-elf Nebbit and the younger, fussier Jipley were happy to be quizzed about their lives working for the Longbottom family.

Harry asked about where they slept, and was happy to hear that there was a dedicated house-elf room with half a dozen tiny beds, and a chest to store spare togas. Hermione thought they each deserved their own room, but the house-elves didn’t agree with her. Jipley was in favour of gender-segregated rooms – one for the female house-elves and another for all the males. “That would be more proper.”

Nebbit on the other hand insisted that tradition dictated that they should all share the one room. “Not all elveses are so lucky as we is to have a room at all - it is a luxury! It is more traditional to just have the one room.”

“Varying opinions amongst house-elves. Appeal to propriety and tradition,” muttered Hermione, jotting down notes.

“Did I tell you I acquired Dobby?” said Harry. “He’s bonded to me now. Dobby! Come here please!”

Dobby popped in, and was thrilled to meet Master Harry’s friends, and the Longbottom house-elves.

“Nebbit, Jipley, could you please explain to Dobby that a room is more appropriate than a cupboard, as a place to sleep?” asked Harry.

They obliged, and with a barrage of rapid squeaky chatter they quickly swayed him to their point of view better than Harry had managed. Hermione scribbled notes down frantically. Harry peeked over her shoulder to see what she’d written as the key points.

“’Stress importance of obedience to new Master’s wishes. Emphasize upholding the honour of the family with improvements including room status and clothing. Traditions vary amongst different family lines.’ Huh. I just tried telling him he deserved it and I wanted him to have his own space. He gave in eventually, but I think the house-elves here are doing a better job of actually changing his beliefs.”

After a thorough talking-to from the other house-elves, Dobby apologised to Harry. “Dobby is sorry. Dobby understands now that you wants him to uphold the status of the House of Potter. The Potter family is not so poor as to not affords a room for house-elves to sleeps.”

“Show off status with conspicuous display of wealth lavished on house-elves,” muttered Hermione as she wrote that down. “That’s a good way to push for improved conditions!” she concluded happily, beaming at them all.

Jipley popped away and back again, returning with finger sandwiches, cakes, and a pitcher of milk. Harry ignored the latter of course, and was fetched some water instead when he asked for it. Neville looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t in the end.

Taking his own house-elf aside into the garden for a moment, Harry explained to Dobby about Professor McGonagall and Mrs. Longbottom wanting him to stay for a week, and Dobby promised to fetch all of Harry’s school supplies. Though he was sorry to see Harry leave early. Harry asked Neville if Dobby could come and stay too, but Neville said it wasn’t considered polite to bring your own house-elf when visiting. It told your host that you thought their care wouldn’t be sufficient to meet your needs.

Hermione asked the house-elves if any of them would wish to be freed, if there was a safe magical place for them to live where they wouldn’t wither. Dobby was the only one who didn’t seem horrified at the suggestion and was actually rather interested, though even he said after some contemplation that he’d rather live with Master Harry.

“Dobby supposes he would quite like being free if it was safe, but thinks there would not be very much work to go around, if house-elves lived only with other house-elves. It would be hard to live without work to do. Master Harry is very kind.”

 _Work ethic – need employment. Possible clause in original curse?_ Hermione wrote down in the lengthy minutes of their meeting. At the conclusion of the meeting, they thanked the house-elves most sincerely for all their assistance, which seemed to make them all puff up with pride. Hermione jotted down one last note about that, and promised to make photocopies to share with the other society members, once she’d written up a good version of their notes.

They spent the rest of the afternoon being shown around the house, chatting about their holidays (especially Hermione’s visit to France), and admiring Neville’s magical plants he was growing in one of the greenhouses. “The other one just has fruit and vegetables - very dull. We really have more than we need, so we sell the surplus. When I’m not around Sooky helps look after the vegetable greenhouse, and Jipley looks after mine. He knows how to follow precise directions, which is vitally important in tending magical plants. Some of it gets harvested and sold for potions ingredients. Thank you for the dung, by the way, Harry. What a great present!”

Hermione looked flabbergasted. “You got him… _dung_ for a birthday present?”

Harry hunched his shoulders in a little. “Unicorn droppings. They said in the shop that it was one thing that gardeners never had enough of.”

“It was a _great_ gift,” Neville reassured.

“Storm said it seemed ‘special’…” Harry smacked his head. “I forgot about Storm. Hang on, I’ll be right back.” He rushed back to the manor. It took a lot of worried hissing, but eventually he found his snake sleepily napping in the pond mud under some lily pads at the very edge of the water, with just his nose poking above the water’s surface.

“ _I’m fine. No need to fusss and wake me up_ ,” he complained grouchily. Harry sighed. Well, at least he wasn’t cross at being left behind. He went back to his friends with a clear conscience.

Soon enough, Hermione had to leave, and made Harry promise to not go looking for Sirius Black, which he was happy enough to do. Neville showed off Harry’s guest room to him – Dobby and the Longbottom elves had unpacked all this things for him, except some school supplies that stayed in his trunk. Thankfully the magically-bound _Monster Book_ hadn’t been set free to wreak havoc. Neville had no particular suggestions about management of ferocious books, so Harry tied up the book with a belt, in anticipation of the Incarcerous spell wearing off soon.

Now they were in private, Neville had a little gossip to share. “Remember how you asked me to check with Gran what would destroy a cursed item? She said Fiendfyre would destroy anything, and that’s what the Unspeakables use. But it’s a bit… Dark. And a really tricky spell to cast. If you’re not careful you could burn your whole house down.”

“Anything else?”

“Running water, but not a stream you want to drink from. Or iron.”

“Hmm! There’s an idea. I’d rather not get too close to it, however.”

-000-

Dinner under the critically watchful eye of Mrs. Longbottom was an experience and a half. She kept telling him off as soon as he even _looked_ like he was going to use the wrong fork, and was most unimpressed when he rested his elbows on the table briefly.

“You have not touched your milk yet, Harry,” said Mrs. Longbottom sternly. “Drink it up, it is very good for you.”

“You might recall that I’m allergic to milk, ma’am, it makes me sick,” explained Harry politely.

Neville and his grandmother exchanged a look.

“No you are not,” said his grandmother insistently. “I will brook no dissension on this topic – for the very notion is ridiculous and has been indulged far too long by your relatives. Now we are better acquainted I think it’s time someone told you the truth - no-one gets sick from milk. It is extremely wholesome for young children, and I assure you _ours_ is very fresh, straight from the dairy this morning.”

“How would you explain the fact that I vomit when I drink milk then?” Harry snapped. “Food allergies and intolerances are well understood by Muggle doctors.”

“Moderate your tone, Harry,” she said, frowning at him. “And those Muggle sawbones? I wouldn’t trust them to doctor a Pygmy Puff. Cutting into people just isn’t natural.”

“Gran and I think you might be sensitive to iron,” explained Neville. “We were talking about it, because I’ve never heard of anyone getting sick from milk before, unless it had gone off. Which is my other guess, but Gran thinks-”

“-Iron sensitive,” interrupted his grandmother. “It’s usually a malaise that affects pure-bloods, but you have three magical grandparents, so that might be enough. Are you aware young man that Muggles milk the dairy cows into iron pails, then the milk from many pails is mixed together in a big iron vat? Then to make matters worse, the milk gets transported to your house in large _iron_ milk cans? Liquids are the most prone to contamination from iron. _Our_ cows are milked into wooden buckets, and the milk is only stored in ceramic jugs. Much more healthsome.”

That was perhaps how milking was done _decades_ ago, but that wasn’t really the issue that most caught Harry’s attention. Did they really avoid iron totally?

“No iron use at all? I mean, I knew wizards avoided iron for gardening, and potions. But everywhere? What about…” he glanced around for inspiration. The room looked devoid of iron. “Nails in buildings or furniture? Or… horseshoes? Door handles?”

“Brass nails where required. Magic binds things together well enough for most purposes, or a carpenter may be skilled with cunningly wrought joinery for the best furniture. Note that despite their name, _our_ farriers do not work with iron,” explained Mrs. Longbottom. “The horseshoes they use are usually made of bronze, and in some rare cases when enchantments are desired, silver. Door handles are brass, of course.”

“What do you mean ‘despite their name’?” Harry wondered aloud.

“Are you unfamiliar with the term? Farriers tend to the wellbeing of winged and Muggle horses, Thestrals, and Hippogriffs, and are smiths who provide and repair all their necessary equipment. The word ‘farrier’ comes from ‘ferrum’, meaning-”

“-Oh, yes! ‘Iron’ in Latin,” Harry said, as part of his brain kicked in and he realised he knew that word.

“It is most impolite to interrupt your elders,” sniffed Mrs. Longbottom disapprovingly. “Kindly refrain in future.” She glared at him sternly.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“Drink your milk.”

“I might vomit.”

She was unrelenting. “If you do, Sooky will deal with the mess.”

Harry drank his milk. It was room-temperature warm, and creamier than he remembered – it was odd having it again after so many years.

“How do you feel?” asked Neville anxiously.

“Alright so far, I guess. It tastes a little odd. Creamy and sweet.”

“That’s the goodness in it. It should be better than Muggle milk,” Mrs. Longbottom proclaimed proudly.

An hour later, and after a slice of fruit cake for dessert, Harry still felt fine. Mrs. Longbottom was being rather intolerably smug about it.

“Maybe you just were served bad milk a couple of times,” Neville suggested.

“Maybe. Or I might’ve outgrown my allergy. Or maybe it _is_ iron poisoning. I’ll read up on it when we’re back at Hogwarts.” Harry was quietly wondering if he’d _ever_ been allergic to milk – he’d only gotten sick a couple of times. If only his uncle had taken him to see a specialist, he’d know for sure. _Hermione’s_ parents would have taken her to a specialist. _Dudley_ would’ve gotten to see a specialist for sure. It wasn’t fair.

“No need for that,” Mrs. Longbottom said. “I shall call a Healer for a home visit.”

The next morning, a Healer arrived to give Harry a check-up and an investigation of possible iron sensitivity causing nausea, or ‘Iron Dyspepsia’ as he said that particular malaise was called. Healer Helbert Spleen was a middle-aged wizard with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail with a velvet bow, and was clad in a lime green robe with an embroidered insignia on the breast of a crossed bone and wand. He got Harry to cast a Lumos spell a dozen times, then took a chainmail shirt out of a large silk bag for Harry to wear. He made interested noises when Harry’s Lumos spells were dimmer or failed while wearing the chainmail.

“You don’t want me to drink anything from a steel cup, or something?” Harry asked curiously.

“No,” said Healer Spleen, “not if we suspect it might be poisonous to you.” They repeated the tests with a different spell, and Harry again found he had more trouble with magic while wearing the armour. His Levitation Charm failed completely a few times while wearing it, and he felt a little dizzy when that happened.

“Have you heard of food allergies or intolerances? Do you think maybe I _did_ have a milk intolerance, and I’ve outgrown it?”

He shook his head. “No. I do read quite widely and I _have_ heard of them, but they’re extremely rare, and you only see them as a problem amongst Squibs, who have a less robust constitution. Wizards and witches, Mr. Potter, do not suffer from many of the illnesses that plague our Muggle brethren. The Black Plague, for instance, left our own people untouched.”

“Really?!”

“Indeed. Now, I already have your name, birthdate, and star sign. So to complete your record with a case history, please list for me any illnesses you’ve suffered from.”

“Uh, I had to have some bones regrown in first year after they were accidentally removed? Some scrapes in second year, in the first half of 1993?” Harry thought for a moment. When did he last have a cold? “I think… maybe I had a cold when I was 9?”

“Interesting. Any other illnesses? Dragon pox?”

“Nothing I can think of. Maybe some more colds when I was young? I guess I’m pretty healthy. Stomach aches, and vomiting milk when I was 10 or so. Some headaches in my first year at Hogwarts.”

“And the reaction to milk was just once or twice?”

“Yes.”

He jotted down some more notes. “Well, given your history and test results I think it is safe to say you are _not_ allergic to milk. You _do_ have a sensitivity to iron-”

“-Is that unusual?”

“No, it is in fact very common,” he reassured. “Your level is about the same as many pure-bloods suffer from, nothing unusual or to be concerned about. Or to boast about! Do avoid using steel or iron cookware or utensils of course, or consuming food stored in containers with any iron content at all. That is just to be on the safe side – you should not experience any significant side effects unless you’re actually ingesting iron fragments. Consult a Healer immediately if you are injured by a Muggle sword or ranged weapon such as a rifle or an iron-tipped arrow. But try not to worry! You should be reasonably safe venturing out into the Muggle world. Just remember that you must _not_ cast spells while inside any Muggle transportation even if you’re unobserved, as the results may be unpredictable. They make their automobiles and train carriages out of steel. Steel is just iron with a higher carbon content, you know – it is not a different metal.”

“Yes I know, I’m Muggle-raised.”

“Ah, so you are, Mr. Potter. My apologies – I usually give this speech to pur… to those raised in the wizarding world.” He coughed lightly in embarrassment. “Well as you avoided Dragon Pox when you were younger, being amongst Muggles, be sure to see a Healer immediately if you notice any sparks when you sneeze, or a green or purple rash. It is a harder illness to endure when you are older, and as it can be fatal in rare cases it needs prompt attention.”

“Yes sir, I’ve read about it. I’ll be sure to get help if I think I’ve caught it.”

“Now, let’s have a look at your eyes.”

Harry was very interested to hear that some eyesight problems (most likely including his own) could be corrected magically, but made you ineligible for professional Quidditch competitions. The healing spells could also wear off, or be reversed by a strong counterspell such as Finite Incantatem, usually causing temporary pain and vision problems (a liability for duellists, especially).

To apply or reapply a permanent transfiguration was painful and expensive, and required the attentions of a specialist. “Only two Healers I know on the Continent specialise in that, although there are also a few in the Middle Kingdom. I believe your Quidditch teacher at Hogwarts, Madam Hooch, had the procedure done when she retired from professional Quidditch. You may wish to have a look at her eyes next time you are afforded the opportunity to do so discreetly – the colour and shape change is not to everyone’s taste. I would recommend you ponder it as an option for some years in the future, but continue using your glasses whilst at school. You would not want someone undoing an eye transfiguration as a prank.”

Harry found it all fascinating, and spent quite a while peppering the obligingly patient Healer Spleen with questions about which mundane illnesses wizards couldn’t catch, and other differences between wizards and Muggles (such as wizards’ higher resistance to physical injury). The Healer’s favourite theory about what caused Squibs was pre-natal exposure to iron.

“It is my personal favoured theory, and one you will find supported amongst a number of Healers, that exposure to iron during pregnancy is very deleterious to the young child’s magical development. I believe we should in fact be seeing _more_ Muggle-borns than we do, but that some are stunted during their development, and are born as Squibs. Should they be born in a locale such as Hogsmeade where you will find the environment pure, they may instead have been born as a witch or wizard.”

“How does everybody manage to cast spells without problems in Diagon Alley? It’s in the middle of London, and iron is everywhere?”

“Hmm. Extremely powerful wards, I believe. And of course you will not find much iron – if any – within the Alley itself. There are also some complicated charms involved that remove the Alley from London, in a way. ‘Wizard Space’ they call it – it is the same thing that makes the inside of a tent larger, but I confess I do not know much about how that works – it’s not my area of expertise.”

-000-

Neville’s whiskered and garrulous Great Uncle Algie visited at one point during Harry’s stay. He seemed to approve heartily of Harry, which Harry considered was one of the most insulting compliments he’d ever received, right up there with last year’s praise from anonymous writers for ridding Hogwarts of Mudblood trash. For the feeling most assuredly was not reciprocated. When he started in on comparing Neville’s magical prowess very unfavourably to Harry’s, Harry for the first time felt like he was a bit like Dudley. And somewhat to his surprise, he didn’t like it one bit.

“I think you promised to show me something in the greenhouse before it got dark,” he said to Neville, interrupting his great-uncle’s flow of vile remarks about how pathetic Neville was in comparison to Harry.

“What-?”

“You didn’t forget, did you?”

“He’s always forgetting things,” said Great Uncle Algie disparagingly. “Touched in the head as a baby, I’m afraid. He does the best he can, little though it is.”

“I’m very sorry I forgot, Harry,” Neville said dully, with a textbook-perfect apologetic bow. “My most sincere apologies. We’ll go now, of course.”

On the walk across the grounds as Neville dragged his feet, he asked, “What did I forget, Harry? I’ve tried and tried to remember, and it’s not coming to me.”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Yup. I made it up. I just wanted an excuse to get you away from that horrible man.”

Neville looked like he might be going to cry. “Thank you.”

“Hey, friends, yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

As they lounged around the greenhouse, hiding from Great Uncle Algie, Harry told Neville about how his family had gone off to Majorca without him, and how angry and upset he still felt about that, even if it _was_ kind of reasonable that they’d be defenceless if Sirius Black came after him. They both agreed that families could be really dreadful sometimes, and they were sure their own parents would’ve done a better job. Neville apologised for Harry being forced to have an extended visit with him instead of continuing to hide out safely on his own, but Harry promised he didn’t mind.

On the first of September the two boys and Neville’s Gran got driven to King’s Cross Station in a Ministry car, driven by the imposing Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry thought it was nice someone was taking the threat of Sirius Black seriously.

Soon enough the nervous boys were settled on the Hogwarts Express, with their pets secured in the end compartment along with many cages full of owls and a few unhappy cats to keep them company. The Auror followed them onto the train, and cast some quick spells on an empty compartment before letting them enter. “All clear, in you go. I won’t be coming with you, but don’t worry, once the train’s underway you’ll be perfectly safe. Dementors will escort the train all the way to Hogwarts.” They didn’t find that as reassuring as he’d hoped, especially Neville, who knew more about them than Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to say it folks, but that’s it for now! I need to take a break from posting to focus on writing and editing this fic (and hopefully I can snatch a little time to work on some new fics too). “An Abnormal Godfather” will be back at the start of Nov ’16 with more chapters – guaranteed! 
> 
> The names Jipley and Sooky were contributed by my reviewer TheAzreal. Thanks!
> 
> With best wishes also to LtsHrIt4ThSPNBoyz whom I hope will be glad to see Harry starting to internalise and admit out loud, just a little bit more all the time, just how unfairly the Dursleys treated him. It’s still a long road.
> 
> And hello to my multiple readers who’ve been worrying for months over Harry not realising his milk intolerance isn’t real. :) I hope you can breathe a sigh of relief now he’s having dairy again, as I wrap that story element up.
> 
> Guest – Professor Slughorn may show up ahead of schedule, but not in this particular fic, sorry.


	6. The Dementor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hogwarts Express isn’t as safe as promised, as a Dementor goes rogue. Hermione explains the problem with her timetable… sort of. Harry goes to his first Ancient Runes class.

**_1 st September, 1993_ **

Harry found it interesting to see who was prepared to talk to him on the Hogwarts Express, with a mad serial killer rumoured to be after him. Hermione and Neville were both happy to join him of course, and _all_ the Weasleys, including Ron, stopped by to say hello. Percy in particular fussed over him, making sure he had his wand to hand, and to reassure himself that Harry had heard the rumour that Sirius Black might be after him in particular, so he should take no chances. Ron and Neville chatted amicably about their holidays for a little while (Harry didn’t join in), and his shy little sister looked like she wanted to stay in their compartment, but didn’t feel welcome to do so. She left with the others – Ron and Ginny were going to take the next compartment down, with Finnigan, Thomas, and Miss Weasley’s friend Luna Lovegood, whom Harry had briefly met in the Hospital Wing at the end of last year.

Draco and Gregory entered with trunks in tow, and Draco started confidently settling down to stay, obviously feeling assured of his welcome, though Gregory hesitated a little, looking to Harry as if for direction.

“You’re welcome to stay if you want to, Gregory,” Harry offered. “But tell me the truth - if you’re worried about Sirius Black targeting me, I won’t be offended if you want to go elsewhere.”

“No,” rumbled the large boy, “it’s not that. I was just waiting to be invited to sit. Draco said it would be fine, but I wanted to be sure you wouldn’t be cross. You might be saving the seats for someone else – I wouldn’t want to offend you and it’s hard to tell if you’re keeping them for someone or not because you didn’t put bags on the seats but that might just mean you’re being tidy. Father and Mr. Malfoy said I should make a statement of alliance by sticking with you even though you might be killed horribly because he says you-”

“-Greg!” interrupted Draco exasperatedly with a pained expression. “Remember what we discussed?”

“Oh right. I’m here just because I want to make friends,” Gregory corrected, with a smile. “How was your summer?”

“Well, welcome Gregory. It’s nice to see you again and I had a lovely holiday in France,” said Hermione, ignoring the awkwardness and the Slytherin political byplay. “How did you go with the summer homework?” The two of them settled down to catch up and go over his work. He’d apparently used the book _When Muggles Attack_ by Barrett Fay as his primary reference text for his essay on the witch hunts, which Hermione had never heard of.

Tracey and Daphne were the last visitors to stop by, before returning to their own carriage. Pansy and Millicent sent their apologies – their parents had asked them to keep a bit of distance this year, and visiting on the train wasn’t terribly discreet.

“Pansy’s really terribly sorry, but her grandfather threatened to disinherit her if she put herself in too much danger,” relayed Daphne before they left.

“She argued to stay friends with me?” Harry was touched. “What about Millicent?”

“Well, she’s got older siblings, so it’s not that she’s an only child like Pansy. But her parents are really protective. They’ll both catch up with you later in group settings, if they can. But they have to lie low for a while, so they’re not marked out as being especial friends.”

“I do appreciate the risk you’re all taking, being friends with me with that betrayer Sirius Black out for my blood,” Harry said to everyone. “I really would appreciate it if you would take some time this year to work on the Shield Charm though, and maybe some other useful spells. Of course I’ll defend you if I have to, but I’d rather have friends and allies strong enough to stand with me in a time of need.”

Draco went kind of still and quiet, and Harry worried he’d offended him. “Not that I’m saying you’re weak,” he clarified, worried. “It’s just a saying. I just mean it’d be good if you can look after yourself, so I can concentrate on fighting Black if I have to.”

“No, it’s alright, no offense taken,” said Draco with a reassuring smile. “It’s just that it’s a favourite saying of… my father’s. It startled and impressed me to hear you saying it, that’s all. I’ll work on my offensive and defensive charms, I promise.”

Hermione looked really impressed “You’ve read up on the Shield Charm? That’s an OWL level charm, Harry!”

“Uh, yeah, I read ahead sometimes. It looked really useful. Hogwarts can be dangerous, you know? I can’t cast it properly of course,” Harry said as a half-truth at best, uncomfortable both with revealing the extent of his studies and the unaccustomed praise.

Hermione nattered happily about her nascent plans for a cross-house DADA study group, as well finding a venue for regular H.E.L.P. Society meetings, and Draco mentioned that Morag MacDougal and Su Li from Ravenclaw were going to approach Professor Flitwick about starting a school choir open to all the Houses. Hermione said she’d talk to Professor McGonagall about a room for study groups and clubs to meet in.

A short while later, the train started to slow.

“We can’t be there yet,” said Hermione, checking her watch.

“Did you ever figure out where Hogwarts is?” Neville asked Harry.

“I did actually! I’m almost completely sure that Muggles know it as Lochindorb Castle, found on the freshwater loch Lochindorb on the Dava Moor. They think it’s a boring old ruin on an island in the loch, mind you – with a sign warning them it’s dangerous and to keep out. It’s just north of Grantown-on-Spey in the south-eastern part of the Scottish Highlands. It’s about the right distance for the travel time, nicely deserted and isolated, with forest nearby, and almost no-one tries to go there.”

As the train came to a sudden stop, Neville poked his head curiously out the door to see what was going on. Harry drew his wand – ready for trouble. When the lights went out that’s when he started getting really nervous.

Harry lit up his wand. “ _Lumos!_ ” Hermione and Draco copied him, and Neville darted back into their compartment, slamming the door closed.

“I think it’s the Dementors. It’s getting cold out there, and I think I saw…” he trailed off, and shuddered.

Suddenly there were piercing screams from the next compartment along – one of the yelling voices sounded like Ron, and a second more girlish voice screamed out, “Harry! Help us!”

“Ginny and Ron!” gasped Neville worriedly, and he and Harry rushed out of their compartment towards the one next-door, where a hideous cloaked figure was floating through the Weasleys’ doorway. One slimy-looked and scabbed hand protruded from the cloak to rest on the doorframe. It floated further into their room as Harry and Neville watched from the hallway.

“Ron! Are you okay?” called Harry. “Is Black in there?”

“No!! It’s after me! Help! So… cold….” his voice trailed off weakly as the creature drew a rattling breath, and the air around them chilled intensely.

Harry took aim at the creature’s back. “ _Incendio!_ ” The flames licked against its cloak, but it didn’t catch fire. Part of the door did, though.

“ _Lumos!_ ” cried Neville, lighting up his wand to give them some light as Harry’s wand winked out as he cast the Fire-Marking Charm. “Leave him alone! Black’s not in there!” yelled Neville. “I am sure you’re in breach of uh… some treaty!”

It turned to face them, and Harry felt his breath catch in his chest – the cold went right to his heart.

“ _Pro…Protego_ ,” he cast weakly as it advanced on them, and a shimmering shield flickered for a moment to hold its progress back for a few moments, before it popped like a soap bubble as it pushed its way through.

Harry collapsed to the ground as the Dementor glided towards him – he was drowning in cold. He heard high-pitched screaming, and a woman’s terrified voice, pleading. Neville fell down next to him in a limp pile.

“ _Flipendo!_ ” came a yell from the doorway of their own compartment, as Draco poked his head and arm briefly around the corner to cast the Knockback Jinx at the Dementor. It was the last thing he heard before he lost consciousness.

When he woke, panicked, he found himself lying lengthwise on the train seat, while a strange man in shabby darned robes was handing out chocolate to his friends.

“Who are you!” he demanded, scrambling to his feet and searching frantically for his wand, which he found lying next to him, to his great relief.

“I’m Professor Lupin, the new Defence teacher,” the man said soothingly. “Here, have some chocolate, it’ll help with the after-effects from the Dementor.”

Harry kept his wand pointed at the man.

“It’s true,” mumbled Neville, through a mouth full of chocolate.

“He ran up and stood over you, and when the Dementor wouldn’t leave the train he cast a spell and this silvery wolf ran at it, and drove it off,” said Draco.

“…Alright.” Harry lowered his wand and tucked it away in a pocket. You never knew about Defence teachers. He didn’t want to be caught out a third time, so better safe than sorry.

“I know it helps, but Harry can’t eat the chocolate,” said Draco to the teacher. “It will make him sick.”

“Uh, well, Mrs. Longbottom called a Healer to see me,” Harry said, in an apologetic tone of voice. “I was fine with fresh milk at their manor. I actually just have a mild iron sensitivity, which he said was common for wizards. Iron Dyspepsia. So either I just had some bad milk a couple of times, or I was reacting to it being stored in steel containers during processing.”

“Really?!” said Draco, sounding pleased. “Wizarding chocolate?” he asked the teacher demandingly, and the man assured him it was. So Harry took some chocolate and nibbled it cautiously, still being a little nervous about eating dairy after years of avoiding it. It was delicious!

Professor Lupin excused himself after that to go and talk to the driver, leaving the children to chat amongst themselves. Ron and Ginny had invited themselves into their compartment, and thanked Harry and Neville sincerely for coming to help. Draco got a shy thank you from Ginny, when she heard he’d helped too, but Ron just pretended he couldn’t even see him.

“My father’s going to hear about this,” proclaimed Draco, getting a snort from Ron, which he sneered at. “You think it’s funny? You don’t have the wits magic granted a Horklump! Dementors should _not_ be attacking students – even _you_. Why, it was headed right for Harry and me before Professor Lupin showed up!”

Ron took that as his cue to leave. “I think it’s a bit too _stuffy_ in here. Bad air. Let’s go, Ginny. Thanks again, Har… Potter, Neville. I owe you one.”

“Your debt is acknowledged,” Harry said formally. Ron looked startled.

“What?”

“Aren’t you stating your life debt?” Harry asked.

“What?”

“‘What, what?’ Is there an echo in here?” mocked Draco. Gregory laughed appreciatively.

“You shut your pie hole! I’m just thanking him for helping! Professor Lupin saved us _all_!”

Draco looked down his nose at Ron disdainfully. “It seems the Weasleys really _are_ blood traitors, without a shred of respect for our traditions.”

“Hey! Are you going to let him talk to me like that?”

“You know I’m neutral in your feud, Weasley. For goodness’ sake leave me out of this,” said Harry, with studied indifference. Maybe Weasley wasn’t being as polite as he’d assumed.

“ _Professor_ Lupin has a duty of care, like an Auror, you half-wit,” Draco explained superciliously. “He can’t claim a life debt. You would’ve been dead by the time he got to your carriage if Harry hadn’t intervened.”

Hermione raised her hand in the air like she was in class. “Technically, he would’ve only been _comatose_. I read in the paper that Dementors don’t kill, they just devour your soul. So I don’t see that a life debt would actually apply in any case, unless I’m misunderstanding their customary usage?”

“Hah!” said Ron, triumphant. Draco scowled.

A tiny voice piped up quietly from next to Ron. “I, Ginevra Molly Weasley, acknowledge my life debt to Harry Potter. I am yours to call upon.”

They all stared at her, and she shrank behind her brother, but it didn’t work too well as he was also spinning around to look at her.

She said quietly, “Well, he saved my life. You know, last year.”

“Lockhart did most of the work,” Harry demurred modestly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Would I have survived if you hadn’t been there helping?” she asked, blushing as she glanced at him.

Harry hesitated. “Well…”

“Then I owe you my life.”

“You’re right, Ginny. I owe him mine too. I, Neville Longbottom, Heir of the Noble House of Longbottom, do hereby acknowledge my life debt to Harold James Potter, Heir of the Noble House of Potter. Thou mayst call upon me for aid.”

“Your debts are acknowledged,” Harry said politely. Ron dragged his sister out of their compartment, after that, not liking all the traditional fuss… or the approving nod and smile Draco directed at her.

“Should I do it too, do you think?” asked Hermione.

“What for?” asked Harry.

“The troll in first year.”

“Muggle-borns don’t follow the Old traditions like that,” grunted Gregory.

“It’s really only a concern for… Well it’s all about upholding family honour, and since your family has no lineage to speak of…” explained Draco awkwardly, trying hard to be polite and failing even more dismally than Gregory had.

 _Draco really doesn’t understand Hermione that well yet_ , mused Harry, as Hermione, with fire in her eyes, swore her life debt to Harry and Neville, following it up with a rant on the respectable and honourable nature of the Granger family. Draco’s eyes pleaded with Harry to help, but Harry just smirked at him. He’d learn.

-000-

Slightly delayed by Madam Pomfrey, who met the train at the Hogsmeade Station to check students over for Dementor exposure, Harry and his friends just got to catch the tail end of the Sorting. They were in time to hear Dumbledore’s speech, which warned of the Dementors guarding the school (though Harry noted he didn’t bother to say _why_ , and he didn’t appreciate the twinkling hint that the creatures would be able to see through invisibility cloaks). He also introduced Professor Lupin as the new DADA teacher, and Rubeus Hagrid as the new Care of Magical Creatures teacher. Able to focus a bit better than on the train, Harry wondered if Professor Lupin (who’d been introduced without a first name) might be related to Remus Lupin, who was a beneficiary in his parents’ will. He looked like he might be an older cousin or uncle of the man in some of the old photographs from his album.

“Look at Snape,” hissed Neville, prompting Harry to notice the death glare of utmost loathing their Potions professor was levelling at Lupin.

“Interesting,” mused Harry thoughtfully. “Be careful around Professor Lupin, Nev. We haven’t had a lot of luck with DADA teachers. And all that hatred has to be for a reason. Be cautious until we know why, okay?”

The next morning at breakfast they all got their new timetables.

“I’ve got Ancient Runes first! That should be interesting,” said Harry happily.

“Divination for me,” said Neville. “How about you, Hermione?” He peeked at her timetable. “I think they made a mistake – you’ve got Divination _and_ Arithmancy both down for nine o’clock!”

“Haven’t you picked your electives yet?” worried Harry. “Classes start in an hour!”

“Oh, uh… I left it to the last minute,” Hermione said, shiftily. “That’s why my timetable is a bit messed up. Don’t worry about it. I’m doing… Divination, and Care of Magical Creatures. So I’ll be in Care with both of you, and Divination with Neville.”

Harry was a bit disappointed. “Oh, I’d hoped you’d join me in Ancient Runes. You seemed to like that a lot too.”

“Gryffindor’s timetable scheduling ended up with a clash between Divination and Ancient Runes – I had to pick one,” Hermione said apologetically.

Professor Babbling’s classroom was set up with desks in pairs, and the room looked full of Ravenclaws. Harry gave Stephen Cornfoot a wave – he was already sitting next to a girl. Harry spotted Dean Thomas on his own, and slid into the seat next to him. Their teacher was already writing on the blackboard at the front of the class – it looked like a list of textbooks they would be using for the next five years, if they kept going with her class. Harry copied it down on some parchment. Professor Babbling was an older woman, maybe in her fifties, and her blousy black robe helped disguise a certain slight plumpness of figure. Her long black hair was worn loose, with a severely cut fringe, and a few thin braids in her long locks had carved wooden beads dangling at the ends. As she finished up her writing and brushed the chalk dust off her hands, Harry noticed she wore a large engraved metal pendant around her neck with runes on it. The chunky silver ring with a ruby on her ring finger suggested she was probably married, or at least engaged. Harry thought she looked too far old to get engaged – married was more likely.

It was a very small class – even after the last stragglers trailed in, there were only eight of them. Dean and Harry from Gryffindor, and six Ravenclaws.

“Greetings class! I am Professor Babbling, and as I’ve found in the past that some students are, beyond all reasonable expectation, unfamiliar with the subject they’ve chosen to study, we shall begin with an overview of the course of study you can expect if you continue with this class through to your NEWTs. Please hold any questions for the end.

“This year we will begin by covering the most commonly used runes, the Norse and Anglo-Saxon rune sets: Elder Futhark, the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc, and Younger Futhark. We will learn the various meanings the runes hold both singly and in combination, and their rune-poems. You will also be introduced to the basics of rune-carving using clay and wood as our mediums, and some practical applications of runes including anchoring transfigurations and enchantments, and divination with rune-staves or stones.

“Fourth year will continue our work in carving on a wider variety of materials including stone, and we will start introductory warding with the Norse and Anglo-Saxon rune sets. You will add the Irish Ogham rune set to your repertoire of runes to work with, and we will discuss the influence of elemental affinities in enhancing wards, enchantments, and runic circles. There will be a few simple practical crafting exercises.”

Dean Thomas raised his hand to ask a question when she mentioned the Irish rune set, but she kept talking and ignored him except for a glare, until he lowered it slowly.

“In fifth year we will cover logograms, including a detailed study of Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics (including both the hieratic and demotic scripts), and an introductory overview of Chinese hànzì and Japanese kanji. You will hopefully all be ready to progress to intermediate warding, and we will begin to look at curses and curse-breaking.

“Should you be keen enough to progress to NEWT level Ancient Runes, note that I require a minimum OWL result of ‘Acceptable’ on _both_ your theoretical and practical exams. You may not make up for poor memorisation with exemplary rune-carving, or vice versa.”

Harry wasn’t the only student in the room frantically scribbling down notes as she talked, though Thomas next to him wasn’t one of them.

“Sixth year will begin with a refresher course in the rune sets and logograms you should have mastered in your OWL years. We will study the advanced theory and practice of combining runes from different sets harmoniously. Our focus in sixth year is on crafting, and has a high level of practical activities. We will also learn about the history of runic magic and will be looking at some of the most ancient scripts, including the Cuneiform of Sumeria, which you will not be required to memorise in full. We will also touch on the very modern Hebrew based scripts, including Agrippa’s Celestial Script, and Paracelsus’ Alphabet of the Magi, and discuss the difficulties and advantages of working with the more newly developed rune sets compared to the ancient ones.

“Seventh year will continue our study of runic history (including looking at the most ancient examples of symbolic magic), and will cover advanced runic theory, wardstones, the intersection of runic magic and other disciplines such as Astronomy and Arithmancy for enhancing megalithic construction, and advanced warding and curse-breaking. There will not be any new scripts taught in the final year, as the focus is on mastering scripts already learned.”

Professor Babbling slowed her rapid talk down a little to impress the next point upon them more clearly. “The final three months will be purely revision, in preparation for one of the most _challenging_ NEWTs you can possibly face at Hogwarts.”

Thomas and one of the Ravenclaws were looking quite nervous now. Some of the other students looked excited and eager, though, like the Chinese-looking girl.

“This is not an easy course, and I have little patience for those who are planning to do only the minimum to get by. So if you find my summary of the course is frightening rather than inspiring, do yourself and myself a favour and leave _now_. Ask your Head of House about transferring to a softer course such as Divination, Muggle Studies, or Care of Magical Creatures.” She paused then, and with a silent wave of her wand, the classroom door was flung open. She sat down behind her desk – quiet at last.

Thomas raised his hand cautiously. “I thought the Futhorc and Futhark rune sets were all we’d have to learn?”

“Obviously that presumption was incorrect.”

“Right then,” sighed the dark-skinned boy. “Sorry Potter, I’m out. I’m going to switch to Divination. If I hurry I can probably catch most of the class.” He grabbed his textbooks off the desk and shoved them hastily in his bag, jogging out of the room.

“Yeah, it sounds like too much for me too,” one of the Ravenclaw boys said resignedly, also packing up.

“Aww, c’mon Michael! It’ll be fine!” said the boy next to him. “Don’t leave me on my own.”

“Nuh uh. I’ve got to get an O in Potions and Arithmancy – I can’t juggle _another_ demanding subject. I’ll still see you in Arithmancy, though,” he said comfortingly, as he packed his bag up neatly. “Look, I’m going to go talk to Flitwick about switching to Muggle Studies. I should cruise by in that one. Dad takes me out into the Muggle world often enough.”

Professor Babbling waited another minute after he left, but no-one else seemed inclined to leave. “Any other questions? Anyone else? No?” She smiled approvingly at the remaining students. “Six students! A good sized class this year. I can always count on Ravenclaws. Alright you two,” she said, pointing to Harry and the lone Ravenclaw boy, “one of you move to share a desk.”

They looked at each other, and Harry shrugged and moved his stuff across. Professor Babbling went around the class and got everyone to introduce themselves. The blonde-haired blue-eyed boy next to Harry was Anthony Goldstein. Stephen Cornfoot, the smart boy whom Harry knew from the quarter festivals, was sitting next to the brown-haired Lisa Turpin. And the Chinese-looking girl with the British accent was Sue Li, who was partnered with Amanda “call me Mandy” Brocklehurst – they both seemed cheerful and eager to get started with the class.

“Now we’re all acquainted, let’s begin! No calling out in my class, raise your hand if it’s an urgent question, but I’d rather you make a note of it, and if it’s not covered later on in the class, ask me at the end. There will be five to ten minutes at the end of each class for discussion, and my office is open on Thursday from five o’clock until dinner time, if you have something important you’d like to go over. Do _not_ come to me with questions that can be answered by looking at the textbooks. Only take as many notes as you need to – if you’re familiar with something I’m discussing, or it’s covered in the text, please just _listen_ rather than scribbling things down.

“Now, the the three best-known runic alphabets are of course the Elder Futhark, the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc, and the Younger Futhark. Elder Futhark is the oldest, and fell out of common use before the founding of Hogwarts! Yet we still use it for enchanting. We’ll be starting with that runic set. The Elder Futhark is named after the initial sound of the first six rune names: F, U, Th, A, R and K, and consists of twenty-four runes, often arranged in three groups of eight runes called an ætt. We will cover the first ætt today, beginning with Fehu, which has the primary meanings of livestock and wealth. Turn to page six in _Ancient Runes Made Easy_ , if you have not done so yet. Miss Li, I see you’re prepared already so please read one of the rune poems for Fehu for the class while they find their place in the text, and take a point for Ravenclaw.”

The girl sat up straight and proud, and read aloud:

_“Wealth is a source of discord amongst kin;  the wolf lives in the forest.”_

“And its associated element of course is fire,” the teacher added. “Both warming and able to harm, similar to the dual nature of wealth. Also, note that accumulation of both livestock and money will attract predators and other interested parties, notably kin in two of the three rune poems. Reversed or ‘murkstave’, it evokes failure and poverty, wasteful hoarding, and predation.”

And on she went. Apart from occasionally asking the class some questions or to read from the text (which kept them engaged and listening), Professor Babbling did not stop for _one minute_ until it was time for class discussion, which was quite frantic with everyone (including Harry) wanting to get clarification on something before their time ran out.

“Homework! Review the first ætt from Elder Futhark, and work on memorising all the rune poems and meanings. Each of you pick one particular rune to especially focus on, to discuss next class.”

Miss Brocklehurst’s hand shot into the air quickly when the teacher paused to take a breath.

“Yes?”

“Professor, who gets which rune? And do we have to copy the poems and meanings out?”

“No – you have to _learn_ them all. The means by which you do that is entirely up to you. Similarly divide up the runes now however you like – there should be two left over, which I will cover myself. Discuss it quietly amongst yourselves if you wish, and then put your hand up to nominate your favourite rune, if you have one.”

Harry got Kaunan – as a rune associated with ulcers, it wasn’t one of the more popular choices and his reserving it caused no bickering. He thought it was really the most interesting rune in the first set, and wondered if it had any applications for healing magic.

He decided he quite liked Professor Babbling, even if her class would clearly be a lot of work. Her rules and expectations were very clear which always made life easier, and she _taught_ instead of just droning on so much it could put people to sleep, or getting them to follow instructions from the book. He thought she was right up there just behind Professors Flitwick and Sprout in teaching ability.

-000-

Catching up with everyone in Transfiguration, Harry thought Neville seemed quite downcast. He wasn’t the only one in the class with a hangdog look, but he was the worst. Apparently the teacher had predicted he’d break a cup (true), that his Gran would get sick (which Neville was very worried about), that he’d be late to the next class (not so worrying, except that it had come true also), and that Harry _should_ have been in her class (she’d seemed quite put out by that, actually). But worst of all, she’d predicted that Ron would die. Hermione was sitting next to the white-faced Ron, trying to reassure him about Divination being a “very woolly” subject full of guesswork, but McGonagall’s reassurance that Professor Trelawney predicted the death of a student in the first class _every_ year and it never happened yet, seemed to do a better job.

Everyone settled down to learn about Animagi with calmer minds after that. Harry couldn’t decide if he liked the idea or not. He guessed it was kind of cool, but it sounded like a lot could go wrong – he hadn’t forgotten Hermione being stuck as a cat-girl for weeks. As they would only be covering the theory, it wasn’t really an issue.

Harry advised Neville to write to his Gran about Trelawney’s prediction… just in case. A check-up with a Healer certainly wouldn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s great to be back posting again! Hi everyone! *waves excitedly* There will be a new chapter uploaded every Tuesday during Nov and Dec ’16. And some brand new fics will go up on Fridays in November – any stories with mature content will be posted to AO3 only, while my FFN page remains child-friendly. I hope you’re happy to see this fic back again! If you’ve never left a comment or kudos, or haven’t done so in a while, now is a great time. :) As this series is so long it’s a lot of work, and I’d appreciate the encouragement (as it’s tempting to get distracted by other projects).  
> Thank you to all my reviewers – I read every single review and really appreciate the time you take to review or comment. A special hello today to my insomniac reviewers who stay up much too late at night too enthralled to stop reading – I really love to hear you found my story so engrossing! :)  
> With thanks also to Naveen N. Bhat and his very persuasive arguments for a plausible location for Hogwarts, that I found on Quora. Hunt it up if you’re curious about the location selected.  
> I had an Astronomy lecturer in university who started off his first lecture a bit like Babbling did – deliberately mentioning all the hardest stuff he’d be covering that semester in hopes that dabblers who didn’t care about his subject would quit early, saving themselves some effort and money, and him some wasted effort having to teach them. A couple of people stood up at the end of class and said to the other students, “Anyone want to buy an Astronomy textbook?”  
> You may notice a small difference from canon in that Hermione appears to only be doing two subjects simultaneously, from what the boys manage to deduce from her timetable. I decided that you can only use the Time-Turner to repeat a given period of time once, so she cannot spin it a second time to live through a given block of time a total of three times – only a maximum of two times. Thus, she doesn’t have three subjects scheduled to attend simultaneously in this fic. I don’t think it’ll spoil anything to let my readers know that much like in canon, she is in fact doing all available electives – the change doesn’t mean she’s not doing Muggle Studies.


	7. What Kind of Bow?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets with Snape to hand over his bequest, the Gryffindors and Slytherins have their first CoMC lesson, and the H.E.L.P. Society has its first full meeting of the school year.

**_2 September, 1993_ **

Harry lingered after their first Potions class that morning to catch Professor Snape, while the others headed off to lunch.

“Well?” asked Professor Snape expectantly.

Harry silently handed over a tiny wrapped package, and a photocopied sheet of paper, containing the excerpt from his parents’ will that mentioned his professor. He waited quietly while Snape unwrapped the gift, and read the message his mother had written years ago.

_“To Severus Snape, I leave the crystal lily he once gave to me, in memory of our long-departed friendship. I also send from beyond the veil my tardy forgiveness for the words he once said to me, and my regret that perhaps my actions may have set him more firmly on the path I suspect he has chosen.”_

He worried quietly that his teacher might have another bout of accidental magic, but he seemed much calmer this time. Snape didn’t say anything at first, he just stared at his gift and the letter for a while, then gently wrapped the little crystal lily back up in tissue paper.

“She was kinder than I deserved,” he said softly. “Was there anything else?”

“No sir, there wasn’t anything else in the will for you. Sorry. Though I do have a book to give to Remus Lupin – I don’t suppose you know if he’s related to our Defence teacher or not?”

Snape’s face twisted unpleasantly in a grimace. “Related? They’re one and the same person.”

“Really? I thought he looked way too old to be… Umm…” Harry floundered as he realised that he was insulting one teacher to another teacher’s face. “Uh, thank you. For the information. I’ll uh, see if Neville or Hermione can come with me to talk to him, then.”

His eyebrows raised. “Why? Do they have some business with him also?”

“You might think I’m being ridiculous, but I want some company if I meet with him, because so far every Defence teacher has tried to attack me. What do you think the odds are that this one will too?”

There was a moment of startled silence from his teacher, before he said, “Actually, quite high, I suspect. It seems a wise precaution.”

Harry looked quizzically at him. “I thought you’d tell me I was being ridiculous. Maybe tell me off for insulting a Professor.”

“That someone may have a sixth sense about people is a known fact. Professor Lupin may well be someone to be wary around. The Headmaster,” he said, with an odd sneer twisting his hook-nosed sallow face, “insists that he is the best qualified applicant for the position. I personally have my doubts.”

“Some people say you’d like that position yourself.”

“I tire of a highly demanding schedule of teaching Potions to those with neither the aptitude nor the enthusiasm for the life-changing concoctions one can brew, and a blithe unconcern for the risks of a poorly brewed potion. Students with your level of skill are rare. Defence would suit my patience better, and a competent teacher for that subject is sorely needed here. However, yet _again_ I have been refused the position. I rather think I tire of teaching here altogether.” His hand smoothed possessively over the photocopied page on his desk.

“Are you thinking of quitting, Professor?”

“Perhaps in another year or two. I must think upon it – do not concern yourself about it. Now, onto other matters. What are your plans to improve your studies this year?”

“I thought an Exceeds Expectations for Potions this year?” Harry ventured hesitantly.

Snape nodded. “And what else are you improving?”

“Umm… an E in Transfiguration?”

“And?”

“And that’s it. Unless DADA is good – then maybe an O in that if it’s a good class. I do have other new classes to focus on, so that’ll do.”

“Is that performing to the best of your abilities in all subjects?”

Harry hesitated. But he knew Snape already knew the answer to that question. “No. But I pretty much will be by Fifth Year.”

“You will get an O in Potions next year,” Snape pronounced sternly.

“Hang on,” said Harry, and rummaged in his bag to get out his planner, tapping his wand against the first page to reveal his notes in invisible ink. “ _Aparecium_!” he muttered quietly. “Yes, an O for Potions in Fourth Year is fine.”

“ _Accio_ _diary_ ,” Snape cast, and the diary flew out of Harry’s hand to Snape’s.

“Hey!” Harry scowled at him. “That’s private! It’s not nice to read stuff without asking.”

“There can hardly be anything personal in it this early in the year. Don’t be so dramatic. And I think you’ll find I have never been accused of being ‘nice.’ ”

Snape ignored his angry glares, and looked over his notes with some surprise. “You’ve planned out your grades to the end of Fifth year in here. Why does Transfiguration only have an ‘E to O’, rather than just an O for your OWL year?”

“The spells are dumb,” grumbled Harry. “No-one needs to turn mice into _snuffboxes_. I thought it was just for first year, but they’re all still like that. But it’s a required class for being a Healer.”

“And Astronomy is staying at an A level?”

“It’s boring, and disrupts my sleep. And I’m not planning on doing it at NEWT level. So an average mark will be fine.”

“Why not simply do the best you can, whatever that is, and be content with that?”

Harry just shrugged. Snape wouldn’t want to hear that he wanted to do poorly in some subjects so he wouldn’t seem like a prodigy. No-one liked overachievers. Especially not the Dursleys. Not that he _cared_ what they thought right now. Anyway, Astronomy was still dull.

“French and Latin? You’re doing self-study in languages? English, Maths and Biology?”

Harry shuffled uncomfortably. “I really have to get to lunch.”

“Then you’ll be quick with an explanation, no doubt,” Snape observed dryly.

“I’m doing Muggle subjects by correspondence.”

“You are a child of hidden depths, aren’t you?”

“I’m not a _child_. And I want my planner back. _And_ you owe me an uncomfortable conversation, now,” Harry said, with an outstretched hand.

“Do I now,” said Professor Snape, with a thin smile, handing back his study planner. “I will share some memories of your mother with you, if you wish to visit my office next Friday lunchtime – that will assuredly qualify as a very uncomfortable conversation. But if you wish to hear about what a _hero_ your father was, you’ll have to go talk to someone else.”

“I’d like… well that would actually be nice some time, but I kind of wanted to talk about… Tom Riddle. And the Dark Lord.”

Snape froze into unnatural stillness. “I would rather not.”

“I’m going to ask Professor McGonagall too.”

“A wiser choice than I. Will you not be speaking with Headmaster Dumbledore?”

“Would you trust him to tell me the truth?”

Snape paused for moment before replying. “He would tell _some_ of the truth. Perhaps less than he should.” He scowled unhappily.

Harry guessed he was brooding about his bequest, from the way his gaze lingered on it. “I need _real_ answers, and I want… _another perspective_ too, if you know what I mean. If you won’t talk to me, I’ll write to Mr. Malfoy.”

Snape hesitated. “Next Friday at lunchtime, Potter. My office. But for now… _out_.” He pointed stiffly at the door.

Harry left while the going was good. He sure was touchy about ancient history. All that stuff was _years_ ago.

-000-

That afternoon, Professor Hagrid didn’t impress Harry greatly with his teaching skills. Having textbooks he hadn’t bothered to tell anyone how to open (even the bookshop manager) didn’t make a first great impression, but Harry was willing to give him a chance. Draco didn’t seem so willing to do so, but somehow didn’t lose any points from Slytherin despite his insults to the teacher.

The Hippogriffs were certainly impressive! Harry had expected they would start with the Ministry of Magic’s less dangerous creatures – those with an X or XX rating. The foot long talons seemed to put everyone off wanting to come closer, despite Professor Hagrid’s loud encouragement. Nor did anyone want to volunteer to be the first to greet one of the fierce looking creatures.

“No-one?” said Hagrid, with a pleading look. “How abou’ you, Miss Granger? I heard yeh’re a good student.”

She shook her head a little nervously. “I’m trying to break my streak of being attacked by creatures at Hogwarts, Professor. I’ll just watch from a safe distance for now if that’s alright with you. I didn’t have the chance to read up on them in advance, you see.”

After a moment the giant man rumbled, “Well, I reckon I’ll ‘ave ter pick someone. Harry, c’mon and say hello to Buckbeak.”

Presumptuous. Why was Hermione “Miss Granger”, but he was “Harry”?

“Yes, _Professor_ Hagrid,” he said, emphasising the title to hint he’d like a little more formality. The teacher ignored it, but it got a muffled round of snickering for some reason from Draco, Crabbe, Gregory, and Pansy. “So what bow should I use?”

“Whadda yeh mean?”

“What _kind_ of bow? Am I greeting it as a superior, or an equal, for instance? Is it sentient enough to know etiquette, or am I just doing the equivalent of showing my throat or belly to a wolf, to show I’m submissive and it needn’t attack? Or is it a display of dominance, to show my disregard for the threat it poses?”

“That’s a good question,” rumbled Goyle, with a carefully precise approving nod to Harry.

Their professor looked frustrated and confused. “Jes’ _bow_ to it, Harry. Polite-like.”

Harry walked up slowly, and bowed shortly to it, as if it was of slightly lower rank than he was. Polite, but not submissive. He kept eye contact when prompted to by Hagrid – he _should_ have warned him about that earlier. Harry really hoped he knew what he was talking about. In the Muggle world, no-one got to skip from being the school groundskeeper to being a teacher without doing _years_ of training at university. Come to think of it, did _any_ of the Professors have teacher training? Snape could do with some too – he might know potions, but he wasn’t great at instilling his love for potions in others, and could be really nasty when people got things wrong.

After the Hippogriff bowed back, he patted its beak gently to general admiring applause, and declined Hagrid’s offer to try riding it. “I wasn’t aware they were domesticated – you had to bring them out on _chains_.”

“I s’pose they’re not, but Buckbeak’s quite friendly with yeh now!”

Harry remained unconvinced and unmoved. But his general scepticism was disregarded as Hagrid proceeded to untie _all_ the Hippogriffs. Neville and Hermione kept backing away from their Hippogriff, which didn’t seem to want to bow back. Draco seemed to be sniping at Ron, as Ron tried to get his chestnut Hippogriff to bow back. It seemed like a recipe for trouble, but at least the teacher was wandering over in their direction – he’d keep an eye on them. And Harry preferred to stay out of their fights.

Pansy tentatively approached Harry to pair up with him to work with his Hippogriff. “I’m sorry about my family, Harry. They’re just worried about Black,” she whispered. “My grandfather has insisted I drop your acquaintance this year, until he’s captured.”

“That’s alright, I understand,” he said, with an encouraging smile.

“I can’t meet with you outside class without risking it getting back to him – I don’t want to be disinherited. But, I can pair up with you _occasionally_ in class, if that’s acceptable to you?”

“That’s fine,” Harry reassured. He introduced her to Buckbeak as if they were at a dinner party. “Buckbeak of the Hippogriffs, may I introduce my dear friend and cousin, Miss Pansy Parkinson, of the Sacred House of Parkinson,” he said, taking her hand to lead her forward. She bobbed a curtsey to it, and held eye contact, and it seemed to get good results, for Buckbeak bowed back at her.

On the other side of the paddock things weren’t going so well for Draco, however. There was a sudden, high-pitched scream, and then Draco was laying curled in the grass, blood blossoming all over his robes. Hagrid was wrestling the chestnut Hippogriff back into his collar, students were yelling and screaming, and Hermione let out a strangled scream as she caught sight of what was happening.

“I’m dying!” yelled Malfoy in a panic, as Harry rushed over to him, drawing his wand on the way. “I’m dying, it’s killed me!”

“Not yet it hasn’t! Let me see!” Harry demanded, and Draco showed him a long, deep gash on his arm. Blood splattered the grass as he moved his arm with a loud groan of pain for Harry’s examination.

Harry muttered to himself as he looked Draco over. “Nothing obviously lodged in the wound.” Stopping the bleeding was clearly the priority. “ _Fascia!_ ” A long white bandage materialised from thin air and wrapped itself neatly around Draco’s arm, binding the wound closed.

“Can’t you heal me?” whined Draco.

“It’s too large an injury for Episkey to work, and I haven’t practised spells for bigger cuts. Best not to experiment.”

“Gotta… get him out of here,” panicked Professor Hagrid, reaching for Draco. “Get him ter some help.”

“ _No_ ,” Harry said sternly. “ _I’ll_ take him to Madam Pomfrey. Unless you have skill in Healing magic?” The man shook his head furiously.

“ _You_ have a responsibility to secure the rest of the Hippogriffs, before someone else gets hurt. Look around, _sir_!” Harry sniped.

Hermione had quietly backed up against a tree with her wand drawn, and was looking very wild-eyed and panicky, as Neville and Ron stood guard next to her with their wands pointed at the nearest Hippogriff, which had opened its beak angrily at this offensive behaviour, and was making an odd chuckling kind of caw, with its feathers puffed up.

Hovering nearby and looking anxiously at Draco, Pansy was crying. “They should _dismiss you_ from your position _without a reference_!” she yelled through her tears at Hagrid, who looked even whiter and more worried as a couple of the other Slytherins nodded and murmured their agreement that he should be sacked at once.

Hagrid hesitated, but as the Hippogriff facing off against the Gryffindors let out a loud screeching cry and pawed at the ground angrily, scratching it up with its large talons, he lumbered off quickly to wrestle it back into its collar.

“Everyone out of the paddock!” Harry said commandingly, in what he thought of as his “pure-blood” voice that he used with Dobby. “Bow farewell to your Hippogriff if you’re near one, and leave in a calm and orderly manner!”

“Yeh don’t need ter bow, jes’ leave!” corrected Hagrid. “But no runnin’!”

“What about _me_!” Draco complained. “You can’t ignore me! I’m dying here! Fix it!”

Harry watched for a moment longer to make sure Hermione and Neville were safe, then turned back to him apologetically. “Sorry Draco,” he said sincerely. “I didn’t want anyone else getting hurt. You’ll be alright. It’s a really bad cut though, let’s get you to the Hospital Wing.”

“It hurts! It hurts _so much_!”

“I know, I know, be brave,” he said soothingly.

Draco’s voice dropped to an urgent whisper, as his eyes welled up with unshed tears. “I can’t let people see me cry. _Do something_.”

“ _Stupefy. Stupefy. Stupefy!_ ” It took a few attempts, but Harry finally got a weak red light from the end of his wand to knock Draco unconscious.

Crabbe scowled at him and cracked his knuckles threateningly. “There had better be a good reason for that.”

“I don’t know any pain relief spells,” Harry explained. He looked the large boy up and down. “Would you or Gregory carry him please? I’d rather not use the Levitation Charm with that bandage on his arm – it’d be tugged about by the spell.”

He glanced over to his other friends worriedly; Neville gave him a wave and a thumbs up – they were all safely out of the paddock. Gregory and Pansy were safely out too. So he escorted Crabbe (who carried Draco), all the way to the Hospital Wing.

What a dreadful first class.

When they got to the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey praised his efforts at first aid, and settled Draco into one of the beds. A few spots of blood dripped through the bandage to stain the starched white sheets.

“I didn’t think Episkey would help, so I didn’t try,” Harry said hesitantly, as she cleansed and re-bound the wound more carefully. “I know there’s stronger spells but I’ve never tried casting them.”

“Quite right, young man. Well judged. Wounds from magical creatures are notoriously difficult to heal. Why else do you think Professor Kettleburn had so many scars and missing limbs?”

“Will Draco be alright?”

“Certainly - with time and attention. He will probably scar, however.”

“He won’t like that,” worried Crabbe.

“Will you be alerting his family?” Harry asked Madam Pomfrey, suspecting the answer would be no.

“Oh, he can do that himself when he wakes up,” she said, unconcernedly.

As she bustled over to get a salve, Crabbe spoke quietly to him. “I will be sending a note with my eagle-owl Aquila as soon as Draco’s awake. So you needn’t fret about it. I will look out for him.”

“Thanks, Crabbe.”

The large boy just grunted back at Harry, and skipped any formal bows or further chatter.

Harry kind of wanted to stay but he saw Pansy hovering at the door, like she didn’t think she could come in with him in there. So he farewelled Crabbe, and just nodded politely to her on his way out. Madam Pomfrey was watching, after all.

-000-

That weekend, Hermione was excited to report that Professor McGonagall had approved her request for a spare classroom to be permanently set aside for club meetings on the weekends and afternoons, and spread the word that their first big official H.E.L.P. Society meeting would be on Sunday morning after breakfast.

Their meeting was quite a large one in the end, perhaps twenty people in total showed up, including some from other years and houses. Tracey was the only Slytherin friend of his to show up – she said Daphne wasn’t interested in their house-elf club, but she wanted to be kept updated about their DADA club, as did Draco. She went and sat next to a few Ravenclaws, including Mandy Brocklehurst and Anthony Goldstein, whom Harry knew from Ancient Runes.

Harry recognised Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch Fletchley from Hufflepuff, and a couple of girls he only vaguely knew, like Susan Bones.

Ginny Weasley was sitting with her friend Luna Lovegood, and Colin Creevey. There were a number of other first and second year students Harry didn’t recognise, and a few older students as well. Hermione was thrilled – only about half of the people who’d shown up were existing members, so there was a lot of interest!

Hermione settled into the role of teacher like she was born to it, thanking everyone for coming, and talking passionately about the third-class citizenship status of house-elves, and the abusive conditions they often suffered under. She had a big pile of leaflets to hand out at the end – copies of the manifesto she’d prepared the year before. She didn’t actually have quite enough for everyone, which she worried over, but she promised to bring more to the next meeting.

Brocklehurst raised her hand politely, like she was in class. “How often will the meetings be?”

“Every Sunday, I thought,” Hermione said.

There was a rumble of discontent. “I like the idea of the club, Hermione,” said Justin. “But weekly is quite a lot. We’ve all got homework to do.”

“And Quidditch!” said an older student.

“How about m-monthly?” suggested Neville hesitantly, a bit intimidated by speaking in front of the large group. His idea seemed to meet with general approval, and the first Sunday of each month was generally regarded as a good idea. A number of students paid their two Sickles and got their membership badge, and some said they’d invite some more friends to the next meeting. Hermione was overjoyed at the success, and wanted to write to Neville’s house-elves to let them know about it. Which he found a very bewildering concept, even though he was a founding member too.

“No-one writes to house-elves. I don’t even know if they can read, Hermione.”

“You could write to Dobby if you want to,” offered Harry. “He can read. At least well enough to cope with a shopping list, so I think he’d be alright. And tell him I said hi, and good luck with the fish pond.”

“Fish pond?”

“It’s just a project for him to work on, so he doesn’t get bored. He kept asking me for more jobs to do.”

After they’d packed up they each started heading off to their separate ways – Harry was headed off to the dorm to fetch stuff before heading out on secret business of his own. But before he reached his goal, Anthony Goldstein and a friend jogged to catch up to him.

“Hang on a sec, Harry!” he puffed.

They caught up to him, and Goldstein introduced his friend, Michael Corner.

“Oh wait, I know you,” said Harry. “You’re that guy who walked out of Professor Babbling’s class.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking kind of embarrassed. “I don’t know what I was thinking, signing up for that class. People warned me, but… I guess I didn’t listen. I figured I may as well quit right away, you know? ‘'Twere well it were done quickly’, and all that.”

“So what did you guys want, in such a hurry?”

Corner looked at Goldstein. “You tell him.”

“Nuh uh. You wanted to ask him, so you do it.”

“You sit with him.”

“ _One_ class is hardly a friendship.”

“I’m not the Heir of Slytherin,” Harry volunteered helpfully.

They stared at him. “Well obviously not,” said Goldstein. “It was that dark wizard ghost in the diary behind it all – Lockhart explained that. Are people really still bugging you about that? No, Michael wants to talk to you, confidentially if possible, about Hermione.”

“What about Hermione?” Harry asked warily. “Like… you want to ask her out??”

Corner physically recoiled, his shoulder-length dark hair whipping around messily as he shook his head frantically. “Merlin, no. Argh, this is not going well. So, right. Here’s the thing. She’s in Arithmancy with us, and there’s like eight of us from Ravenclaw, and this lone Gryffindor. So guess how many points Ravenclaw got last class, or the class before that?”

Harry was puzzled. She wasn’t _taking_ Arithmancy, as far as he knew. “What? Sorry, I’m a bit lost here.”

“Oh, sorry. So keep in mind Professor Vector asked about twenty questions per class, with an average two or three points per answer.”

“Umm, I don’t know?”

“ _Ten_ points total, for the two classes. While Gryffindor got about thirty-five points. She stuck her hand up for every single question. And once when Vector asked Patil a question, when she didn’t answer right away Granger leapt in with the answer even though no-one asked her.”

Harry was looking kind of shocked, so Anthony leapt in to try and soothe his presumed hurt feelings.

“Look, we know she doesn’t mean any harm, it’s just that she’s in the _Ravenclaw_ class, and it feels like she’s taking all our points. She’s ruffling some feathers. If her timetable was better and she was in a Gryffindor class, she’d only be competing against other Gryffindors – it wouldn’t be such a big deal. We’re not trying to be mean here, we’re just asking if you could maybe have a discreet word with her. Get her to tone it down a bit?”

“Sure, I’ll have a word. I have to be honest, I didn’t even know she was taking Arithmancy. But you know, she always loves answering questions in class.”

“Yeah, well… so do _we_.”

“I’ll have a word.”

And he did, though it didn’t go quite as well as he’d hoped. He found Hermione in the library (no surprise there), and slid into the seat next to her.

“So, you’re doing Arithmancy as well as Care and Divination?”

With a worried look, she shoved some of the texts on the table underneath some of the others, quickly making some impressively tall tottering piles of books. “Oh, most of this is just for light reading.”

“Uh huh,” he said sceptically. “Look, some of the Ravenclaws from your Arithmancy class asked if you could maybe tone down answering so many questions in class? Because it’s kind of not fair on their House, if Gryffindor gets all the points from a Ravenclaw class. Which seems fair to me, I guess, if you think about it from their point of view. I didn’t even know you were doing Arithmancy. Late timetable addition?”

She looked kind of sheepish at being caught out. “Yes… a late addition. I wanted to do an extra subject, and well, I just told you and Neville about the ones we shared. I do Arithmancy with the Ravenclaws, to make the timetable work. It clashed with Divination, you see.”

“You should try and let some more Ravenclaws field questions in class, okay?”

She looked kind of hurt. And annoyed. “There’s nothing wrong with answering questions when you’re called on. It shows you know the work.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, you’re… uhh… They asked me to… Well, you’re really good at answering questions, but I think you’re intimidating them a bit. So, think it over, alright?” He wished Neville was here to help. He was better at this stuff, sometimes. He seemed to be able to say the same things, and not hurt her feelings somehow. “Where is Neville, by the way?”

“Oh, he and Ron and Dean are off playing cards, or something. Boys,” she sniffed. “They should be studying.”

“Well, I’d better be off to do some studying of my own. Even though I am a boy.”

“I didn’t mean _you_ , Harry.”

But she didn’t invite him to stay and study with her, even though she’d obviously settled in for a few hours. He guessed he’d hurt her feelings. It didn’t matter. He had a snake to collect, and places to be.

Well, one place. He was sneaking back into the Chamber of Secrets.

One trip through the secret entrance in the boys’ bathroom on the Fourth Floor near the library, down the spiralling path, and through some more secret passages, and he was tapping politely on the frame of the old Roman mosaic, and greeting its lonely inhabitant.

Ambrosius rose from his reclining position, and grinned happily out at Harry. "O Harry! Bene est videre teum hic iterum."

Harry’s magically enhanced mind supplied the translation as the wizard spoke: _Harry! It’s good to see you here again!_

“Thank you, it’s good to see you again too, Ambrosius!” he responded politely, in Latin. “If I may call you Ambrosius?”

“You learnt Latin! Well done, and so quickly, I’m very impressed.”

“Magic!” he grinned. “It cost a bit of money, but I now know Latin, French, and Ancient Egyptian. Hermione thought it was a big waste of money when she heard how much it cost in pounds, and kind of like cheating, but hey, at least it’s one less thing I’ll have to study really hard for. She seemed pleased she wouldn’t have to help me study it this year, though I’m not sure if that was for my sake or hers.”

“Well, now you speak Latin fluently we can become better acquainted. Will you tell me some more about yourself?”

“Would you be telling my tale to anyone else?”

“No, sadly I am trapped within this stone tomb – if this new modern spell allowing travel for portraits was cast on my own mosaic and another mosaic fashioned in a similar manner, perhaps I could. But I have not heard of any other animated mosaics that still survive, at least not in Britain.”

“Sorry sir, I haven’t heard of any either. I’m pretty sure there’s none in Hogwarts, at least.”

The man sighed sadly, so Harry distracted him by obliging him with a brief history of “the Boy Who Lived”, glossing over his time with the Dursleys to only tell the nicer parts, his discovery of magic and arrival at Hogwarts, and then the edited tale of the “theft” of the Philosopher’s Stone where he got knocked unconscious by the thief, Quirrell. He gave the highlights of the Basilisk attacks in his second year then skipped to the end to give a mostly accurate version of his defeat of Tom Riddle’s diary (including a false explanation of how the diary got dumped in the ocean by Dobby) and his chat with the Basilisk Custos, and ended with a grumpy report of being kicked out of home, and the threat of Sirius Black. It wasn’t like the mosaic was going to be telling anyone his secrets… but better safe than sorry.

“And what about you? I’d like to hear your tale too. You must be quite important, for Salazar Slytherin to hide you down here.”

“I wish he hadn’t done so – I’d like more visitors.”

“Uh, well, the Headmaster believes he’s blocked off the only entrance to the Chamber of Secrets,” Harry said apologetically. “So I’m afraid you’ll have to keep being secret for now. But I’ll visit you when I can. I was thinking I might do some of my studying down here, and I could keep you company if you like?”

“That’s a kind thought. Young Tom used to visit me for a while. I thought perhaps he’d just tired of talking with an old man whose spellcasting he eclipsed, but perhaps he met a bad end, if his ghost was possessing a book. I suppose you’re not related to him after all? There is a slight resemblance.”

“No, I’m pretty sure we’re not directly related, but if we’re both of Salazar’s line there might be something many generations back.”

Harry talked about his worries about Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort being one and the same person, as the ghost had claimed. “I don’t suppose you could tell me about him?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t seen him since he was a teenager,” Ambrosius said apologetically. “I don’t believe I impressed him greatly and he tired of speaking with me soon enough, though it was a pleasant few months while it lasted. So I really couldn’t say. I do know that he was an orphan, and lived in an orphanage in London with none of the modern wards to protect his home from what he called the ‘Blitz’. A terrible war was in progress with Saxony, when we last spoke, with a wizard named Gellert Grindelwald supporting the Saxon’s mortal leader in his war of conquest across the Continent.”

“Mortal?”

“Not magically talented. I believe you call them ‘Muggles’ now?”

“But we’re mortal too!”

“But different. We live longer than them, though not as long as our ancestors did. I believe the blood is now sadly diluted. But then, my own mother was mortal, so I am hardly in a position to judge!”

Harry thought about what he’d read. “I believe the current expected lifespan for a wizard or witch, who doesn’t suffer illness or accident, is about a hundred and fifty, with a hundred and eighty being regarded as amazingly old? They say our Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, is about a hundred and fifty, and he looks really, really old.”

The man sighed. “So little. Tom estimated about two hundred as being typical for a healthy wizard who passed away of old age in the nineteenth century. There were still a few older wizards left in his time, however. Has your old Headmaster, Armando Dippet passed away yet? He was about three hundred years old, when he led the school in Tom’s time.”

“Three hundred! I don’t know sir, but I’ll see if I can find out.”

“Ambrosius please, no need to stand on formality, young friend.”

“And will you tell me a little about yourself, Ambrosius?”

“Well, I was moved here shortly after the founding of Hogwarts, in the tenth century,” he said. “My mosaic was moved here due to its unusual antiquity. I believe that some soul pictures older than I may still endure, but I suspect I’m the oldest in Britain.”

“Where were you before then? Rome?”

The man laughed. “No! Wales. A fortified castle in South Wales, though I understand it is nothing but a lost ruin these days. But I understand the confusion. I do indeed wear the garb of the Roman Empire – my father wore the purple. That means he was elected to Roman office,” he added in explanation, in response to Harry’s look of confusion. “He was a governor in Britain in the days it was ruled by Rome, and a patrician - entitled to wear the purple-bordered toga. And a ‘wizard’, as we’ve been called these many years, though my mother was of mortal stock. Love! It ‘doth make fools of us all’, as I’m told one of your modern bards says! So the garb I chose when I sat for my portrait to be taken for this mosaic is out of respect to the days of my youth, my family, and the grand traditions of our people. I must admit I wore it little in my latter years! Those descended from the old Roman patrician families I understand they call ‘Ancient’, now.”

“I should write all this down,” muttered Harry.

“Oh, please do. It would be good to see you and your descendants come to visit me as the years progress. I sleep when no-one is around, but it is disconcerting to wake and hear another century or two has gone by. So please do include a record of how to visit me, when you scribe your tales.”

“And you’re a wizard yourself, obviously. I don’t suppose you could help me with my homework, if I get stuck?”

“Very little, I expect,” he said modestly. “Tom was disappointed to hear magic had changed and advanced so much since my day. The crafting of wands was but in its infancy, and the Olive-wand family had not yet relocated their shop to Britain – my staff here was regarded as something very special indeed, crafted from a branch of exceptionally magical rowan wood from a sacred grove hidden on the island of Mona. You call it Anglesey now – it’s off the coast of Wales and overrun by ‘Muggles’, apparently. Tom and I found it on a map.”

“That’s alright if you can’t help. Would you like the company anyway? I could chat a little as I worked. But I’ve got a lot of study to do, you see.”

“I would like nothing more than to have some company once more, and to hear about how magic has progressed.”

Harry hesitated. The man seemed a bit elitist in his attitudes. “I’m studying Muggle subjects too – maths and science.”

“A scholar indeed! How marvellous.”

“You don’t think Muggle subjects are useless?”

“No knowledge is useless,” the man said like it was just an obvious fact.

“I bet you were a Ravenclaw!” Harry laughed.

“Ah, well you would be wrong there, lad. The Founders liked to argue over which House I would have been Sorted into with Godric’s hat, once they crafted it to find who was best suited for an apprenticeship with them. Of course I could not actually put it on, but aided by a number of conversations we concluded that Slytherin would have suited me best. Salazar was very smug about that.”

“Cool! You knew _all_ the Founders!” Harry said excitedly.

Ambrosius smiled at his excited response to that. “Oh yes, we had quite a lot of talks, before Salazar left the school and I was sadly left to my slumber once more. He’d sealed the chamber and they couldn’t get down here without him, you see. Not without damaging the wards or structural integrity of Hogwarts, in any case. There were wards against scrying and travel into this Chamber that prevented them from simply Apparating in.”

Harry was torn. He really wanted to talk more, but with all his Hogwarts subjects, plus French, Latin, English, Maths and Biology, he really couldn’t spare that much time.

“I would love to chat more, but I really need to get going, or work on some homework now. Maybe we can chat more about the Founders and the old apprenticeship system next visit? I thought maybe you’d like to help me with my Latin homework? I know the language, but I need to practise a bit to be sure.”

Ambrosius was more than happy to help, and Harry got cracking on his first assignment. It looked like this subject was going to be really easy, and after a couple of hours of work, he was starting to feel pretty confident about being able to take the Latin IGCSE at the end of the year. He switched to Maths next, which Ambrosius was also interested in, and actually quite talented at. He was good at explaining things.

“Were you a teacher?” he asked curiously, when he took a late lunch break to nibble at a bread roll stuffed with bacon he’d wrapped in a napkin and tucked away in his bag at breakfast time.

“Not at Hogwarts obviously, unless you count some discussions about magic with the Founders. I did teach young students with magical talent back when I was alive, though there were few. The war against the Saxons did take its toll on our people.”

“How old are you? I mean, what century did you live in?”

“I walked the earth during the second to sixth centuries. The most notable wars with the Saxons were in the fifth century. Half a century of constant battles against the invaders – my most glorious and terrible years.”

Storm woke up, finally, and Harry introduced him formally again to Ambrosius Aurealianus, who relayed a polite greeting in return through Harry.

“I don’t suppose you know why the entrances to the Chamber of Secrets are via bathrooms?” Harry asked curiously.

“Ah, that would be the work of an earlier Heir of Slytherin. Young Corvinus Gaunt – good name I must say – he helped conceal the entrances to the Chamber when its secrecy was endangered by the workmen installing bathrooms.”

“ _I’m bored_ ,” Storm complained pretty swiftly.

Harry hissed to his snake comfortingly, and translated for Ambrosius, who suggested he use the pool up above, since he was an aquatic kind of snake.

“It’s kind of… disgusting and slimy now,” explained Harry. “And dark. If I’m not there to cast a light, I’m not sure how well he’ll be able to see. He can see in the dark alright, but not pitch black. Well, unless there’s something warm, or magical. He can sense that, somehow. Pit organs explain the heat sense, but I’m not sure about his magic sense.”

Ambrosius talked him through how to trigger some light enchantments with a tap of his wand that would provide a soft glow from special enchanted blocks at points along the walls in the various chambers and tunnels, and recommended he look into learning some water purification charms, so his snake could have a swim next visit.

“Are there any other entrances to the Chamber of Secrets, apart from the two in bathrooms that I found?”

“Those may be the only ones of use to you – some were permanently closed off in the last renovation. I believe there’s still a large hidden tunnel leading out to the woods, originating in the chamber behind Salazar’s statue, but you should be wary of it. For I believe it has enchantments along its length to lure in and entrance prey for Custos. You may find yourself bespelled.”

 _Definitely one exit to avoid_ , thought Harry nervously. He wrapped up his Maths study as Storm got increasingly bored with his attempts to chat to the unresponsive snake statue, and bid Ambrosius farewell, promising to stop by next weekend.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to My blue rose & her husband for their help with betaing my dodgy Google-translated Latin.
> 
> Thanks to all my lovely reviewers! It’s been great to hear from my old friends again, and hi and welcome to my new readers too! Special thanks this week to my new reader jon reeve, who left a billion reviews this week, leaving one every few chapters. :)


	8. The Boggart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco delights in being assigned Weasley as his personal minion in Potions, and Lupin’s class lesson on Boggarts leads to some very interesting repercussions.

**_September, 1993_ **

Harry visited Draco very briefly in the Hospital Wing on Monday, but he was healing very slowly, and wasn’t released back to classes until Thursday, when Weasley got to have the extremely dubious pleasure of having him as a partner in Potions. Snape hovered maliciously, as Draco bossed his partner around. It seemed like he blamed him for his injury, though he also shared the responsibility around and also laid it at the door of both Hagrid, and Steelclaw the Hippogriff. His father had apparently complained to the school’s governors, _and_ directly to the Ministry of Magic. The only person he didn’t seem to blame was himself – and though Harry wasn’t game to point that out, Weasley certainly was. Repeatedly.

Seamus Finnigan had gossip to share with Harry in Potions, being one of the few students their age with a subscription to the _Daily Prophet_.

“Potter, did you hear? Sirius Black’s been sighted. At Dufftown.”

“Dufftown? That’s not far from here, maybe only twenty miles,” Harry said worriedly. “Do they still think he’s headed for Hogwarts? Has he killed anyone? Did the Aurors fight him?”

“Well, he hasn’t killed anyone _new_ ,” said Finnigan. “It was a Muggle who saw him – she phoned the hotline. Thought he was just an ordinary criminal, didn’t she? By the time the Ministry sent people out, he was gone. Ron said he’s after you – is it true?”

A few other students seemed to be quietly listening in for Harry’s answer. “That’s the rumour I heard. He’s the one who betrayed my family to the Dark Lord. Killed one of their best friends, Pettigrew, when he tried to bring him in. And a whole bunch of witnesses, too. That’s what I’ve read, and heard from others, anyway. So since he’s crazy and out of prison, yes, he might be after me.”

“Wow…” said Finnigan softly.

“You’d better get back to your Shrinking Solution, it’s turning orange, Finnigan,” said Harry warningly, tired of the depressing conversation.

The sandy-haired boy turned back to his cauldron with a curse.

After class, Weasley jogged up to talk to Neville. “Did you see where Hermione went? I was chatting to her about Snape taking points off for chopping that blonde prat’s roots wrong, and then I turned away for just a second, and she was gone. Oh, there she is,” he said, looking confused as he spotted her up ahead, dealing with her bag that had split at the seams sending a large pile of books tumbling to the ground.

“You know Hermione,” said Harry, helping her pick them up. “The definition of ‘light reading’ should be restricted to things you can actually carry. Even if you’re not changing your bag at lunch, you shouldn’t need to be carrying more than five books! It’s bad for your back, you know.”

“And for your bag!” laughed Neville.

“Yeah, I know,” she grinned nervously. “But you know me! Thanks everyone. I hope there’s something good for lunch, I’m starving!”

“But what do you need all those books for? Who reads textbooks for light reading?” wondered Weasley aloud. Harry ignored him. Just because _some_ people didn’t like to study, didn’t mean it was like that for _everyone_.

-000-

It wasn’t their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, but it may as well have been, for the last one had just been a “getting to know you” class where they all introduced themselves, and talked about the plan for Third Years to focus on learning about Dark creatures, and spells to defend against them. It boded reasonably well for the quality of teaching compared to Lockhart, at least.

This lesson was to be a practical one, which had the class murmuring excitedly as they were led to a staff-room full of old, mismatched chairs. It wasn’t empty though – when they entered they saw Professor Snape sitting in a faded plush green armchair, enjoying a cup of tea while reading the _Daily Prophet_.

As Professor Lupin shepherded the last few students into the room, he held the door open with a questioning look at Snape. But he merely settled pointedly into his chair, with a sneer on his face as he spoke to Professor Lupin. “You may as well close the door, Lupin. I’m rather interested in witnessing this.” He glanced around the room casually, his gaze resting briefly on Harry as he did so, and folded up his newspaper.

Professor Lupin walked them over to a rattling cupboard, and talked them through the day’s lesson about Boggarts. As Hermione bobbed up and down on her feet with her hand in the air, trying to answer every question (even the one Professor Lupin asked Harry), he rather thought the Ravenclaws had a bit of a point. It _was_ rather off-putting.

They practised the Riddikulus Charm to change the Boggart’s appearance from something out of their worst nightmares into something hopefully amusing, and then they were ready to face their worst fears. In theory.

“Right, Neville,” said Professor Lupin. “First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you the most in the world?”

Neville’s lips moved, but no noise came out. Professor Lupin tried to encourage him along, but Neville just looked around wildly, looking anywhere _but_ at Professor Snape, who was watching the proceedings with a critical gaze.

“No,” he whispered at last. “No, no. Someone else.” He shuffled to the back of the class.

“I’ll go first,” said Ron, who faced off against a giant six foot tall spider, which brought out a whimper from him, and a few screams from the class, until he made its legs vanish with a well-cast charm which brought out a much needed burst of laughter from him.

There was a nervous titter of giggles as it bounced around like a fuzzy beach ball, and Professor Lupin shouted, “Parvati! Forward!”

With a crack, there was a blood-stained mummy lurching forwards, until with a wave of her wand and a cry of “ _Riddikulus!_ ” its bandages tangled it up so it tripped over.

As Finnigan faced a loud wailing banshee screaming that he was going to die, Harry wondered what his worst fear was. Sirius Black slaughtering everyone? Someone cutting out his heart in a ritual? The Dementors were really quite terrifying. He remembered the penetrating cold and how weak and helpless he’d felt with one advancing towards him, ready to suck out his soul. How could he make that _funny_?

Someone else faced a rat, and then Fay Dunbar got a large rattlesnake for her Boggart.

“It doesn’t hiss right,” said Harry interestedly, noticing he couldn’t understand it. “It may as well be a toy snake. It’s not real.”

“Thanks, Harry!” she said gratefully, and it turned into a plush toy snake, to the laughing amusement of the class.

Thomas faced a disembodied hand that scuttled about on its fingertips on the floor, which made Hermione snort with laughter _before_ he cast Riddikulus.

Then it was her turn, and she didn’t laugh at all to see it change with a loud crack of noise into a giant troll, its chest and the club it held splattered with scarlet stains. A tuft of curly brown hair was caught on the club, matted there with blood. It growled angrily. Hermione was white-faced and trembling, frozen with surprise, wand pointed at it limply. Clearly she’d been expecting something else, and was stuck on how to make her worst nightmare seem funny.

“ _Riddikulus_ ,” she incanted bravely, but nothing happened.

Harry and Neville stepped up to support her, and with Neville slightly in the lead it shifted to his worst fear – _Professor Snape_.

Neville didn’t seem to know whether to look at the Boggart-Snape, or the real one. The Boggart held out a tarnished silver goblet of murky green potion to him with a sneer. Noxious-looking green vapour rose from the surface of the bubbling liquid. “Drink,” it said commandingly. “I will send my condolences to your grandmother, you pathetic Squib.”

Professor Lupin, with a mostly hidden smile, encouraged to Neville to picture Snape clad in his grandmother’s favourite dress and vulture-topped hat, but Neville was too terrified of the real object of his fear to want to try and vanquish the copy of it with such a method. Not with him watching the proceedings with a scowl.

Harry stepped in front of Neville, and Lupin looked like he was going to panic for a moment as he saw a tall figure coalesce with a swirl of robes. But it wasn’t clad in the black robes of Voldemort that Lupin had been expecting, nor was it wearing the tattered robes of a Dementor that Harry had been imagining. These robes were a garishly bright purple, with cheery animated shooting stars on them. Harry’s greatest fear was the twinkling visage of Dumbledore.

His face was gentle, but determined. “I know what you are _really_ like now. Everyone knows. Parselmouth. Dark. A freak. You shouldn’t be around _normal_ people, my boy. I’m afraid there’s only one place suited to the likes of you - _Azkaban_.”

The whole class was murmuring, and Harry’s mouth was hanging open as he gaped in shock. And then suddenly Dumbledore’s face morphed swiftly and terrifyingly to that of a Dementor. Dumbledore’s face shrivelled and turned a sickly grey in an instant, his mouth shrank to a small lipless circle, and his robes shifted to a tattered black. The Dementor lunged suddenly at Harry with a terrible rattling hiss, eliciting screams from half the class.

In the sudden cold Harry heard a woman crying.

“ _Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!_ ” a man’s voice called impatiently, and then there was just high-pitched screams.

“ _Riddikulus!_ ” he tried incanting, but like Hermione he was having too much trouble focusing on potential hilarity when faced with his fears in person, and his spell fizzled.

Lupin stepped forward, and they got to see his Boggart for a moment (a _full moon_?), before he called the whole class to step forward to confuse it together. The crazy mixture of forms brought a laugh from almost everyone, and the Boggart exploded into a thousand tiny wisps of smoke, and was gone.

Lupin handed out some points to everyone who’d had an individual turn, and some extra for Hermione and Harry who’d answered questions. He set homework of summarising the chapter on Boggarts, and dismissed the class.

But Snape, who’d watched the whole lesson silently, wasn’t letting Neville escape so easily.

“A private word, Longbottom,” he said, gliding over.

Harry stayed next to Neville as all the other students filed out, some casting sympathetic looks at Neville on their way past.

“Out, Potter.”

“With all due respect… no, Professor,” Harry said nervously, glancing at his terrified friend. Neville gave him a grateful look and an appreciative nod.

“Five points from Gryffindor.”

“Yes, sir.” His tone was polite, but Harry stayed rooted where he was.

“And if I make it a detention?”

Harry shrugged. “Then I serve a detention – it’s not the worst thing in the world. I’m not leaving Neville. I think we both know you scare him right now. Would you want a friend of yours to leave you alone to face whatever _your_ Boggart would turn into?”

Snape paused, and looked thoughtful. “I have practised several practical spells to deal with such an eventuality, but your point is nonetheless well made.”

With that said, he turned his back on Harry and opted to ignore him as he focused on Neville. “Longbottom. Look at me.”

Trembling, Neville obeyed, and raised his gaze from his hangdog stare at his own feet. “I-I didn’t mean… that is I hope you d-don’t-”

But Snape wasn’t interested in listening to any stammered attempts at an explanation or an apology, and cut him off with a sneer. “Cease your ridiculous stammering and listen. You are clearly _not_ a Squib, Longbottom. You are a wizard, and this fear of yours is ridiculous. You will _not_ go back to see that creature again with such a pathetic fear, for I will _not_ be made the subject of Lupin’s attempts at mockery. Find a more realistic thing to be terrified of, for I shall not be harming you. Detention on Saturday morning, Longbottom. Be prepared to write a two foot essay on why I am not a suitable object of fear. Find that Gryffindor courage they _allege_ you all possess.”

Neville couldn’t thank Harry enough, when they were out of the classroom. And he also repeated his thoughts over and over. “He doesn’t think I’m a Squib, Harry. I’m not a Squib. He _said so_. To my face. He’s not going to poison me. Did you hear? I’m not a Squib.”

“Of _course_ you’re not, Neville,” soothed Harry. “We’ve talked about this. _Years_ ago.”

“I know, but… he _said_ it. I’m not a Squib, I’m a _wizard_.”

“Of course you’re a wizard. And a good one. Look at all the spells you can cast in Charms and Transfiguration! You’re doing great!”

“But Snape never saw me cast those. But he _knows_ for sure that I’m a wizard all the same.” Neville paused for a moment. “You know Harry, if you ever have to go and meet with Dumbledore, I’ll come with you. I won’t leave you alone either.”

“Thanks, Neville.” Harry was a bit embarrassed. It was a stupid fear. Why couldn’t it have just been a Dementor right away? He knew why, though… when he thought about it. Dumbledore really _did_ frighten him. What that man could do – with his powerful positions, twinkly popularity, and reputation for impeccable righteousness. And a big part of his fear was the wizarding world’s belief that torturing prisoners with a Dementor-filled prison was just and reasonable – that was _terrifying_. He never wanted to end up there.

The gossip spread to the Slytherins quickly enough. They seemed fascinated and sympathetic about his fear of the Headmaster, and of being sent to Azkaban.

“What did the Boggart turn into for you, Daphne?”

“It didn’t. I refused to do the exercise of course,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“For Merlin’s sake, why would you want your greatest fear told to everyone?” Draco said, mystified. “You should have skipped it too. It was far too revealing.”

“Didn’t you get into trouble?”

“Naturally. But most of the class refused to do it, so we’re not in detention on our own. A few people had a go though, either because of the bonus points on offer or because they wanted the practice and they thought their fears were acceptable ones to display,” explained Daphne.

“A few volunteered when Lupin sweetened the offer with more bonus points for Slytherin,” Tracey said. “For instance, it turns out that Zabini is most afraid of his mother dying – not something you can really use against him without looking like the lowest sort of knave.”

“Mine is dragons. I got ten points for Slytherin!” Gregory said proudly. “Good luck to anyone trying to scare me with a dragon. It’s not like someone can hide one in my bed, or something.”

The Gryffindors were worse about it. Well, _one_ of the Gryffindors in particular. Who opened his big fat mouth while Harry was tidying books off his bed after cramming in a couple of hours study after dinner, and hissing goodnight to his snake.

“So… I’ve thought it over, and it seems to me that your greatest fear is people finding out that you’re actually a Dark wizard,” Ron said suspiciously.

Damn it, Harry thought he was _over_ that. He helped save Ginny’s _life_ , didn’t that count for anything?

“I’m not scared of people _finding out_ I’m evil. I’m scared of Dumbledore _saying_ I’m evil and everyone believing him because he’s this great man hardly anyone questions, and getting thrown in _Azkaban_ for no reason to be preyed on by Dementors just because I can talk to snakes. Gosh, why _would_ I fear people turning against me just because of something stupid like _that_? Oh _wait_ …”

Ron’s face instantly crumpled with apologetic regret. “I’m sorry, I’m being an idiot, _again_ …” But Harry angrily pulled his bedcurtains shut and ignored his stammering start at another unwanted apology. He didn’t want to hear it. He shouldn’t have accused Harry in the first place.

“ _I’m going to learn a ssspell that makes **ssspiderss** appear_ ,” Harry hissed to Storm crossly, after explaining the altercation.

“ _Sssounds tasty,_ ” he said approvingly. “ _And fish?_ ”

“ _Just ssspiderss, because Ron is ssscared of them_ ,” explained Harry. “ _Given one can make sssnakes appear, it’ss logical there are sssimilar ssspellss for other animalss. Never mind that it ssseemss to break all physical and natural lawss. You’re not sssupposed to be able to create food with magic, so why can you make animalss?_ ”

“ _I don’t know. Why?_ ” Storm asked curiously.

“ _I don’t know the answer either. I just thought it was an interesting thing to think about._ ”

“ _Maybe they come from the Dreamtime,_ ” his snake hissed thoughtfully.

“ _That’ss another place, right? Beyond thiss world?_ ”

“ _Another place. Another time. The sssame time. Where the sssongss come from. What the sssongss make._ ”

“ _Sssongss make a place?_ ” Harry asked, confused.

“ _Yess. In a line. The pathss of the ancestorss. The sssongliness. Acrosss the land. Acrosss the sssky. The Clever-men walk the sssongliness through the land, and sssing them. To help keep the land alive. They are nice liness. Can’t you sssee them? Don’t you sssing or dance them here? Sssomeone must._ ”

Harry was fascinated. It sounded a bit like the European theories about ley lines, though he didn’t know a lot about those. “ _What do they look like? Can you sssee them?_ ”

“ _Yess,_ ” said Storm, weaving sinuously back and forth. “ _They look ssspecial. You had a nice one at your own ssspecial rocks that we visited. And there are lotss of them here. It is a very ssspecial place here. I like it here._ ”

“ _Can you make one?_ ”

“ _No, I am too sssmall,_ ” Storm said apologetically. “ _Grandmother_ _Garranga'rreli made a great one._ ”

“ _I didn’t mean you **personally**_ ,” said Harry. “ _I was just wondering if they can change. You sssay your grandmother made one?_ ”

“ _Many, many, **many** motherss ago, when Grandmother moved across the land. In the Dreamtime when all thingss were made_. _I can’t tell you that ssstory though – you’re not a sssnake, or one of the right tribe, so it’s sssecret._ ” His grandmother was more like a long distant ancestor then. Or a myth about an ancestor – like the Eve of rainbow serpents?

A voice spoke up tiredly from one of the beds – it sounded like Finnigan. “Harry, for Merlin’s sake could you please stop that creepy hissing? We’re _trying_ to get to sleep here.” There was a murmur of approval from Thomas, which Harry thought was a bit unfair given how he _snored_ most nights. He was almost as bad as Weasley.

“Alright, sorry, I’ll stop for tonight. We were just chatting. I’ll just explain to Storm.” It was a pity he was a nocturnal type of snake. He was never so philosophically chatty when awoken in the daytime from his snoozing in his tank in his little pond, or fished out from under the leaf litter.

-000-

Friday was Harry’s research day. He had a meeting with Snape booked for lunch, and before that he was meeting with Professor McGonagall prior to breakfast for tea and a chat. He’d put it off long enough – he wanted to know the truth about Quirrell, Tom, and Voldemort, and he’d learnt as much as he could on his own from library books (which was very little he hadn’t already known).

Professor McGonagall seemed delighted to see him, and tried to soothe his rumoured fear of Dumbledore with relayed messages of friendship and her own assurances, but Harry just politely thanked her, and tried to drag the conversation onto the topic _he_ was interested in. He really didn’t have time for chit-chat – every free minute of his time needed to go on something productive. It was only a couple of weeks into the year, and already his study workload was nearly crippling. He’d already sent a letter to Dudley warning him he was going to have to cut back a bit on study and assignment assistance for him.

“I want to hear what you know about Professor Quirrell,” he said abruptly after his more gentle efforts to steer the conversation had failed, taking her aback. “The Headmaster said he thought he might be working for the Dark Lord. Was that true? Is there any evidence for it?”

“Most people say ‘You-Know-Who’, or ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’, or something similar,” corrected Professor McGonagall. “The ‘Dark Lord’ is what those sympathetic to his cause called him.”

“Really?” Harry said, surprised. “I just thought it sounded less… childish than the other options. I thought the others were for kids.”

“Not really. They’re generally popular options. Now, to answer your question, which is a difficult one,” his professor said, dipping a scotch finger biscuit in her tea before eating the slightly soggy end, “we never did find out for sure. But the Headmaster… he has long believed that You-Know-Who may have survived…” she said hesitantly.

“He’s not dead? You said he was _dead_ ,” Harry said accusingly. “The history books agree.”

“He is! We believe. But there was never a body – just a pile of ash. Still, many people came out from under the Imperius Curse, and that’s not something that usually ends with less than the caster’s death, unless the victim is willingly freed, or breaks free themselves due to immense willpower. The Headmaster has sometimes thought You-Know-Who was merely… weakened. Reduced to a spirit. And a spirit seeking a body would be greatly helped by-”

“-The Philosopher’s Stone,” concluded Harry. “So there’s nothing _directly_ linking Quirrell with the Dark Lord?”

“If there is, the Headmaster has not shared his thoughts on the matter with me. It’s all inferences based on some unusual mannerisms, and of course on his theft.”

Harry munched on a biscuit himself, and slipped a second one into his pocket for later, when McGonagall glanced away for a moment.

“Was he really in Slytherin?”

“Yes, You-Know-Who was a Slytherin, when he was in Hogwarts – the association of him and his followers with that house is quite notorious.”

“No, I mean Quirrell.”

She frowned sternly. “I believe he was in Ravenclaw. Not every blackguard is sorted into Slytherin, Mr. Potter.”

“I know that. And what about Tom Riddle? And who he became?”

His teacher sighed. “Slytherin for him. And yes, it’s true. Young Tom Riddle grew up to be, well, You-Know-Who.”

“How did he have a ghost in a diary, then? Can paintings work like that too – can their spirits escape if they get enough power?”

“No! No, paintings are just an impression of the original person, not their spirit. They could never possess someone like that. The diary was something different.”

“What?”

“Nothing that need concern you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry looked at her incredulously. “The ghost of the Dark Lord tried to sacrifice me in a ritual, and it _needn’t concern me_?”

McGonagall’s cup rattled as she placed it back in the saucer. “Perhaps I phrased that poorly. Of _course_ what happened is extremely important and concerning. And I cannot express how very glad I am that you are safe, and that Professor Lockhart managed to vastly exceed my expectations of his… Well. I must say that you and he both did extremely well to escape with your lives. I merely meant that the _means_ by which the diary was created must remain a secret. I have discussed it with Professor Dumbledore, and I can only tell you that the very Blackest of arts are involved. Things not fit for a child’s ears.”

“But why was the ghost so young? And is there a way to tell if someone is possessed? Like Lockhart was?”

“I can’t answer that, Mr. Potter. And I don’t know enough about possession to judge such a matter – I do _not_ dabble in the Dark Arts, I assure you. If it’s like the Imperius Curse, however, you would watch for atypical behaviour. If you’re lucky, there may be something about the eyes, as they try and fight back against the curse.”

“There’s no spell to check?”

“Not that I know of. That fact unfortunately caused a lot of trouble, in the last war.”

-000-

His discussion with Snape was more uncomfortable, but a little more informative. He double-checked his information about Quirrell first.

“Was there any reason to believe he was working for the Dark Lord?”

Snape steepled his fingers. “Apart from the obvious theft, I assume?”

Harry nodded.

“Well, he did try to kill you, Mr. Potter.”

“What? No he didn’t.”

Snape looked at him unbelievingly. “Surely you haven’t _forgotten_ such an incident? Your broomstick, at the Quidditch match in first year. He jinxed it in an attempt to throw you to your death. You should show more gratitude – I may have saved your life with the counter-curse, Potter.”

Harry looked sceptically at him. “But how do I know it wasn’t you jinxing it yourself?”

“I have had _plenty_ of opportunities to remove you from this world, including right now, and yet still you remain here to vex me with stupid questions.”

“Quirrell had plenty of opportunities too.”

“He could hardly kill you in the middle of classes,” said Snape. “Or so Dumbledore insisted,” he added with an angry mutter.

“I met with him after class a few times, though. No witnesses. He could’ve killed me if he wanted – he didn’t. Not even when he took the Stone and left.” Snape looked pensively thoughtful at that.

“Did you… notice him acting unusually? Like he might be under an Imperius Curse?” Harry asked.

“The turban, and the garlic,” Snape said instantly. “It struck me as odd – he was always one to dress more traditionally than that, and his tale about an African prince was an obvious lie. His stutter was oddly worse, but _most_ people chalked that up as a consequence of his ill-fated adventures over summer. It struck me as overdone at times – too artificial.”

“Did he seem… sick?” Harry asked hesitantly. “Physically ill?”

“Sometimes he stumbled a little. Or looked a bit dazed, when one talked to him. Arguably he may have been ill. Or under the Imperius. It seems inconclusive to me as to whether he acted of his own free will or not. That is your theory then, that the Dark Lord compelled him to be a servant?”

Harry looked deeply uncomfortable. “Maybe. Why… why would someone serve him? Help him get a body back? In the Chamber of Secrets… Tom… the Dark Lord… he was going to kill us. So if that was really him behind it both times, he’s tried to kill me two or three times now. Why would someone follow him?” He looked at Snape nervously. He looked even more awkward at hearing the question than Harry felt in asking it.

Snape sighed. “And you’re asking me personally this question because…?”

“You know why.”

His professor avoided eye contact so carefully, it was as if Harry was the one with Legilimency. He stared at the wall as he answered. “I was young. Angry. I’m not saying it was right. I made a mistake. A dreadful one. But he seemed to offer so many answers to the problems plaguing our society. It may seem like this magical, perfect world to you-”

“-It doesn’t.”

Snape blinked, before continuing. “It did to me, before I saw the cracks in it. Our Lord was so sure he could reform it. Make things better. Save our culture, and prevent the ridiculous continuing persecution of those who still held onto the Old Ways. Overthrow our corrupt government. Make the Darker magics legal once more. Bring wizards and witches and the oppressed races out of the crowded slums of Knockturn, stop our people stagnating and dying out – lead us into a glorious age. Keep us safe from the encroaching threat of Muggles. Build a new empire of Avalon for us to live in. The violence… it was seen as a necessary evil, when politics failed to achieve our… his goals.”

“Why did he try and kill me? I was just a baby.”

“I have sworn not to speak on this matter unless permitted to. I cannot break that vow. I’m… sorry.”

Harry thought he looked genuinely regretful. “Literally cannot?”

“Not without risking death.”

“An Unbreakable Vow? To whom?”

Snape raised his head to stare at Harry silently. “Right, you can’t say,” Harry concluded. “Sorry.” He had a good guess who, anyway. Or maybe two guesses. Dumbledore seemed to trust Professor Snape a lot, though Harry suspected the feeling wasn’t quite so mutual at the moment.

“Umm… so just checking, can you confirm for me – Tom Riddle and the Dark Lord, they’re the same person right?”

“Yes. His background was one of his greatest secrets – I was one of the few who knew it. Along with those few who knew him in school of course, such as the Headmaster, and who managed to recognise him on the battlefield. Few knew his real origins as a half-blood orphan – it was assumed by many that his secrecy about his family was based in a desire to protect them from declaration of feuds or other forms of retaliation for his own actions.”

 _Very interesting_ , thought Harry. “And the diary?”

“A mere fragment of his soul, we suspect. Imprisoned in the diary.”

“It wasn’t his full ghost, from when I uh… as a baby…”

Snape shook his head slowly. “No. I believe the diary would need to have been crafted at the age he appeared to be – a teenager of Hogwarts age, if your and Lockhart’s reports are correct. You are certainly full of questions today, Potter.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “And thank you very much for answering them, sir. And when the diary was destroyed – what would that mean for him?”

“To damage a person’s soul directly is usually permanently scarring, and is thus unforgivable. Though perfectly understandable in Lockhart’s case, given the diary was attempting to possess him. I would speculate that the Dark Lord, wherever his spirit lingers, may have suffered immense pain and some mental or spiritual damage when his soul fragment was drenched in acid.”

“Like the Longbottoms, who were driven mad from the Crucio? It similarly acts directly on the soul, after all. So is it the intensity of the fiery pain that traumatises the mind, or is it the astral damage to the soul that causes the mental problems?”

Snape looked curiously at Harry as he displayed familiarity with detailed knowledge of the Unforgivable Curses, but decided not to draw attention to it. “Yes, it would have an effect much like that, I suppose. I believe the best theory in regards to the Cruciatus Curse is that it is the soul damage that causes the victim to lose parts of themselves, mentally, rather than the pain itself causing the trauma.

“But it is all only guesswork and supposition,” warned Professor Snape, “and obviously not something any researchers can rightfully experiment with. Do _not_ share these theories with that gaudy peacock Lockhart, nor any member of the press.”

“I promise, sir. I don’t suppose you could write me some passes to the Restricted Section, so I can look some things up too?” Harry asked optimistically.

“To look up the blackest tomes of Dark magic? Don’t be ridiculous, Potter,” he sneered. “It’s a fruitless quest in any case – the Headmaster withdrew the most questionable tomes from the library some years ago to his own private collection.”

Harry shrugged. It had been worth a try. It didn’t seem right that Dumbledore had taken all the best books, but he guessed he could see why. Normal school libraries didn’t keep around books explaining how to build bombs, after all.

“And uh, if you don’t mind, I’d rather you’d keep this discussion confidential? I’d rather not be gossiped about to the Headmaster,” Harry asked optimistically.

Snape sneered nastily with an angry twist of his mouth. “I will be telling Dumbledore _nothing_ in regards to you. He deserves no such courtesy from me any longer. My confidentiality is thus assured.”

“Still mad about the lily statue, huh?” Harry asked with a tiny smirk. “Does this mean I can do whatever I want with my grades now?”

“Only if you wish to become more adept at the task of scrubbing cauldrons clean, with practice every weekend.”

Harry guessed that was a no, then.

It didn’t really matter. He’d decided he wanted to take his grades up faster anyway. The Dursleys didn’t care, and wouldn’t notice. Hogwarts didn’t send home report cards, and they never checked with any of his teachers, so he could lie through his teeth about his results if he wanted to. So now it was simply a matter of increasing his grades slowly enough to not draw undue attention from staff and students here at Hogwarts.

-000-

Storm insisted on going to dinner with Harry that evening, and despite his own generally bad mood Harry was happy to oblige him. For dessert Harry was cautiously trying some more of the dairy-based options. Consuming dairy had been fine at Longbottom Manor, and so far he hadn’t had any reactions here at Hogwarts either. He guessed trying some Muggle milk would be a good control test to see if it was iron contamination that was really the problem, but he didn’t know if he wanted to make himself sick. And as he nibbled happily at a slice of scrumptious treacle tart with cream (his new favourite), his little rainbow serpent showed off his own magic for the first time, swaying gently back and forth as a tiny raincloud formed above Ron Weasley’s head, and rain began to drizzle gently on his ginger hair.

“ _Ssstorm, are you doing that?_ ” hissed Harry.

“ _Shh, concentrating,_ ” his snake replied.

Weasley’s very own personal raincloud grew a little, and he looked up puzzledly, wiping at his wet head.

“Ha _ha_. Very funny guys! Cut it out!” he complained, looking around for the culprit, or more specifically his suspected _pair_ of culprits. But the twins shook their heads in synchronized unison when his accusing gaze locked onto them.

“Not us-” one said.

“-Much as we’d like to take credit,” the second added with a rueful laugh.

“ _Alright Ssstorm, it’ss funny I must admit. But that’ss enough now,_ ” said Harry, as Thomas and Finnigan shifted away from Weasley, who was moving around and finding the cloud followed him, stuck like a floating burr in the air above his head.

“ _But I haven’t gotten any lightning yet! He was mean to you!_ ”

“ _No!_ ” Harry hissed sternly. “ _No lightning!_ ”

“It’s your snake!” yelled Weasley, noticing the loud sibilant hissing of Parseltongue coming from Harry, and the glittering rainbow snake swaying back and forth on the dining table.

“So? What of it?” said Harry crossly. “I’m trying to get him to stop, but he thinks you deserve it.”

“I said sorry!”

Harry stood up to face him, rather than keep trying to talk past people. “Sorry is just a _word_ , Weasley, it doesn’t actually make everything magically better!” yelled Harry. “You can’t keep trying to be friends, and then turning on me! Again! I’m tired of people I trust turning on me!”

Weasley stood there under his personal raincloud, staring at Harry as he got drenched to the bone, and as McGonagall stalked over to see what was going on.

His snake hissed in happy anticipation. “ _Almost got it…._ ”

“ _I sssaid no!_ ” Harry said angrily, and picked up his snake, breaking its concentration and making the cloud dissipate.

“ _But I almost had it_ ,” Stormed whined. “ _Just a **little** lightning bolt. It wouldn’t have killed him. Just ssstung a bit._ ”

They each lost five points from Gryffindor, and Harry was warned to have a stern talk with his snake if he wanted to bring it to meals in the future. And Draco gave him a happy grin and a nod, from over at the Slytherin table. He mightn’t know why Harry had argued with Weasley, but he clearly definitely approved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are finding yourself bugged by my portrayal of Hermione as waving her hand about trying to answer questions she hasn’t been asked, and answering without being called upon, please keep in mind that this is exactly what she does in the canonical books. See Chapter Seven of PoA, for example. In the movies they tone down her behaviour to make her less annoying. I love Hermione, I really honestly do, but she’s still got some growing up to do. It will take time.
> 
> Thanks again to all my lovely reviewers! Special thanks this week to Iron_Dragon_Maiden who’s written a couple of very long and thoughtful reviews on the past couple of chapters. Thanks also to MysticSong1978 who popped by to post some reviews of my stories to cheer me up when I was having a bad day last week. They’re not the only ones who’ve been fabulous, but there are too many of you wonderful people to keep track of easily! I do appreciate the short reviews too, of course – they’re all great and appreciated.


	9. Connections are Valuable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry attends a Quidditch tryout, and has a dignified tantrum about having to study Flobberworms again.

 

**_September 1993_ **

The second weekend back at Hogwarts was traditionally set aside for Quidditch trials. This year Millicent was excited to be trying out for a spot as one of the new Beaters for Slytherin. Draco relayed a verbal message from her that she’d really appreciate it if Harry would come to her tryout to cheer her on.

“I don’t think she will get the spot, mind you,” warned Draco. “She’s going to have some competition from some of the older students, I think they’ll have a strength advantage over her. Vincent and Greg are trying out too.”

“Well, let her know I’ll come anyway. Nominally to cheer Gregory on, if I’m still supposed to not officially be friends with her.”

“Her father is really strict,” Draco apologised, on her behalf. “She doesn’t _want_ to avoid you, but she doesn’t want to upset him either. You can be friendly, just don’t single her out, like she’s someone Sirius Black could take hostage to use against you.”

“Merlin, am I seriously putting everyone I talk to at risk?!”

“No, her father’s just a stodgy paranoid old fogey. Pansy has more reason to take care – being a family member. Sometimes family members get targeted in a feud, if someone can’t attack the offending party.”

Harry went over to the Slytherin table after breakfast, and walked down to the Quidditch pitch with Draco, Gregory, Crabbe, and Millicent, who gave him a hesitant little smile. He smiled and gave her a thumbs up, and she looked relieved and happy. Harry had thought about wearing his green scarf to the tryouts, but didn’t want to be accused of being a “traitor” to Gryffindor if someone saw him. The Gryffindor scarf also seemed a bad choice for cheering on the Slytherin team, so he wore his Appleby Arrows scarf as a nice Quidditch-friendly neutral choice, and a casual robe. The others would all be wearing robes (mostly the split-skirt style suitable for Quidditch, with trousers underneath), and he wanted to fit in.

“Potter? What are you doing here?” asked the hulking dark-haired Marcus Flint, when he saw him with the Slytherins.

“I’ve come to watch the tryouts and cheer my friends on,” said Harry. “I’m surprised to see you here too – I thought you had graduated.”

The boy shrugged. “Alas, I must admit that I didn’t pass my NEWTs. So I’m back for another try. It should be easier this year! You aren’t going to be spying and passing information on to the Gryffindors, are you?”

“No, that would be rude. Might mention the team line-up, but that’d be it at most. Sound good?”

“Yes. That’s acceptable, Potter,” Flint rumbled.

A tall older boy with wavy brown hair approached and offered a short bow to Harry. “Peregrine Derrick, at your service, Mr. Potter.”

“Oh! Derrick,” Harry said, returning his bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you properly at last. I hope your mother is well? Storm loved your sister’s picture.”

“Yes thank you, quite well,” the boy said, glancing sidelong at Flint with a small smile. “We received your thank you note, and Flavia is looking forward to getting a photo of you and Storm.”

“I’ll be sure to arrange it as soon as I get a free moment,” Harry promised.

“That’s a nice scarf – you’re an Appleby fan, then?”

“Well it was a gift from Jacob. I guess they’re my favourite team! Better than the Cannons, that’s for sure.”

Millicent had been hovering quietly, but injected herself into the conversation at that point. “That’s Jacob Williams, the _manager_ of the Appleby Arrows. He’s quite the fan of Harry’s. We met him over summer.” And here Harry thought she was trying to keep her distance from him. The lure of the opportunity to name drop must’ve been too much for her.

There was a sudden murmur of interest from all the assembled Slytherins, and Flint’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm too, but he quickly called people to order. “All right, enough! We’ll ask him about it later, time for tryouts!”

Flint’s spot as Captain and Chaser remained secure, and Montague kept his position as Chaser too. There was a bit of competition for the third spot, and the Keeper (Bletchley) was put under a bit of pressure to field all the shots. Eventually there was an upset with Cassius Warrington beating Adrian Pucey to the position as third Chaser.

“Cassius kept Blagging me! He grabbed the tail of my broomstick when I was lining up that last shot!” complained Pucey. “Otherwise I would’ve made it.”

Flint looked surprised. “Did he? Well done, Warrington. I didn’t see that at all. You’ve definitely got the spot. Pucey, you’re Reserve.” Warrington grinned smugly. “Urquhart, Vaisey, you’re Reserve team too. If the Gryffinbores are going to have a full Reserve team, we are too this year. Anyone else trying out for Keeper this year? No? Bletchley, it’s still yours. See if you can find someone to train up as Reserve Keeper.” Bletchley nodded.

Draco competed against a younger student named Harper to retain his spot as Seeker, and Harry noticed that one of the Chasers passed over his broom to Harper for his tryout. Draco won easily, and Harry applauded as he made some exceptionally good catches.

“Alright, Beaters! Who have we got? We’ve got to fill both spots, so I expect some good performances!”

Gregory, Crabbe, Derrick, Millicent, and an older hulking boy named Lucian Bole all stepped forward. The team brooms were passed to them – it didn’t seem like any of them had brought their own. Flint tested their range first – a competition to see how far they could hit the Bludgers. Then their aim at a stationary target (the Quidditch rings), then protecting a moving one.

“Malfoy, Harper – up in the air! Derrick, Bole, you’re on defence protecting the Seekers. Bulstrode, Crabbe, Goyle, offence. When I blow the whistle, swap roles.”

Harry thought Derrick and Crabbe had the best range, and Crabbe and Gregory worked well together as a team. Millicent and Derrick had the best accuracy, and Bole was a good all-rounder. And most of them cheated when they thought they’d get away with it, except Crabbe and Gregory who didn’t try those tricks on each other, only the other prospective Beaters.

After the Beater tryouts Flint called the Seekers in for a quick conference to see what they’d noticed that he’d missed, while the hopefuls lined up in an orderly fashion to await word.

“Derrick, you’re top pick, you’ve got the first spot!” called Flint, after his huddle with the team. “The rest of you were all good, but the second position goes to Bole. Crabbe, Bulstrode, you’re Reserve. Too bad, Goyle. Keep working on your aim, try again next year.” Harry applauded Millicent, who looked happy with the result. It was too bad for Gregory, though.

“I should’ve got it,” sighed Gregory, as he sat down next to Harry, as the main team went through some drills, facing off against the Reserves. “Vincent and I are great.”

“Never mind,” said Harry. “It’s a lot of work. You’ll have more time for homework, and just generally having fun.”

“I suppose,” he said grudgingly. “What are you doing?”

Harry was pulling books and parchment out of his bag. “Transfiguration and Charms homework. I don’t really have _any_ free time this year. I was up before breakfast doing an assignment for Biology. I brought some books along because I remembered how Ron didn’t want me to leave watching his tryout early, so I figured you guys might want me to stick around too. So I brought something to work on.”

Gregory hadn’t brought anything to work on, and kept interrupting Harry’s work. So in the end he gave it up as a bad deal, and went through some practical spellcasting drills with him. Harry helped him learn the Knockback Jinx and then they began work on the Disarming Charm, while Harry worked on defending with his Shield Charm.

Eventually the practice session drew to an end, and most of the students headed back to the castle, while a few others wandered over to where Harry and Gregory were duelling.

Harry stopped casting spells as they approached, and got hit with an unexpected Knockback Jinx that threw him off his feet.

“Got you!” Gregory said triumphantly.

“Yeah, you got me. All finished now, okay?” Harry said, getting up and brushing bits of grass off his robe.

“Alright. Now don’t forget you have to bow. For the end of the duel,” Gregory explained insistently, so they exchanged polite duelling bows, with a sweep of their wands up to their chests. Gregory wanted him do it a second time with a better swish of his wand, before he was satisfied Harry had done it properly.

“Nice work, Potter,” said Derrick admiringly, “a lot of Seventh Years still can’t cast the Shield Charm.” A couple of others also offered some words of praise.

“Thanks. It still breaks too easily, though.”

“Incantation and wand motions looked good. What’s your visualisation?” asked Derrick.

“A disc shaped force field,” said Harry, receiving somewhat puzzled blank looks in response. “Uh, like an invisible thin shield made of magical energy, like a strong soap bubble?”

“That’s probably the problem then. Think of something thicker, like a stone wall, or a Gringotts vault door,” suggested Derrick. “You don’t want something thin that can pop. Pour more magic into it, too.”

“Thanks!”

“So… Jacob Williams?” asked Flint, changing the subject without a smidge of subtlety.

“Yeah, he sent me free tickets to the last Appleby Arrows match. He’s been sending them for years, apparently, but I had mail trouble. He’s a bit of a fan – you know – the whole Boy Who Lived thing.”

“Do you think you could get him to come and watch a match? Because there’s a few of us who are thinking about going professional,” said Flint. A couple of the older boys nodded.

“That’d be quite a favour,” said Harry, tilting his head. “And it might seem odd, asking him to come watch a Slytherin match, when I’m in Gryffindor.”

Montague spoke up. “Mayhap you could invite him to come watch the next Gryffindor-Slytherin match. It’s scheduled for early November. Since he has invited you to his team’s matches, it would be a nice courtesy to extend to him.”

“Yes, I suppose I _could_ ,” said Harry, hinting meaningfully. And then it only remained to politely dance around arranging terms for an exchange of favours. Flint assigned Derrick to be on call for tutoring for Harry as required for the next month – he didn’t seem to mind that at all. Harry hinted about passes to the Restricted Section. When Harry had asked earlier that week, Professor Lupin had just flatly refused to give him passes for the Restricted Section, even for something as innocuous as an advanced Charms book! So disappointing. How was he supposed to learn how to cast Fiendfyre now? The Slytherins didn’t think they could get him any passes signed by a teacher but otherwise blank (Madam Pince could spot forgeries, apparently), but Montague and Flint promised to acquire six books for him to borrow and read if they could (three each), no questions asked, and no tales told. During the next month only, though – they didn’t want a favour dragging on forever.

“So you won’t tell anyone, even if they’re something I really _shouldn’t_ be reading?” Harry checked.

“On my family’s honour. No-one will know except me or Montague,” Flint promised. “Whichever one of us gets the book for you.”

“I’ll help Harry too, if I can,” volunteered Draco.

“You’re good, Malfoy,” said Flint, “but not good enough to go professional yet. And years away from graduating. Worry not – this chance is for the older students, you don’t owe Potter for this. This is our opportunity to be noticed by a manager.”

“I know that. I just want to help out the team,” Draco insisted. Harry thought he probably wanted to be seen being useful to the Heir of Slytherin, but never mind. It sounded better the way he’d phrased it. Flint appointed him as their “factotum” – he would deliver books to Harry as required, and relay messages to and from the older students, until the month was up.

Harry wasn’t completely convinced that he could rely on Flint’s word, however, and asked Draco about it quietly afterwards as they walked back towards the castle with Gregory once the others were out of earshot. Millicent had left with Crabbe, chatting about Quidditch non-stop and what training they should do. Gregory had looked after them a bit wistfully, muttering about how maybe he’d talk to Bletchley about training up to be Reserve Keeper.

“So Draco, is Flint promising on his family’s honour worth anything, or will he dob me in to a teacher if it gains him some advantage?”

Draco looked shocked. “Harry! His family is Sacred, Noble, _and_ Ancient. Swearing on his family’s honour is a big deal for Flint. Yes, you can trust him, with an oath like that.”

“Sorry, it’s not like I have anyone to teach me these things, you know,” grumbled Harry. “Especially now Pansy isn’t talking to me very much. Who else has an Ancient and Noble family?”

“Sorry. She _wants_ to, I know, but she can’t go against her grandfather – he’s Head of the family. And rich and old, of course. But to return to your query, out of those whom you are familiar with, there’s not a lot of Ancient families. There’s plenty of Noble families, but the only other Ancient family member I can think of you’d know would be Blaise Zabini, who’s in Slytherin of course. Though some cast aspersions on his family’s claim – people aren’t very familiar with the Italian lines. And there’s also Susan Bones in Hufflepuff.”

“An Ancient family in Hufflepuff?” Harry said, surprised.

“I know. It’s a disgrace,” said Draco, much more disgusted by the idea than Harry.

“Nothing wrong with Hufflepuff. Diligence and patience are admirable traits,” Harry protested defensively. “I was just surprised. I’d assumed the older families would be in Slytherin. I guess that was dumb.”

“They usually _are_ in Slytherin, but the Noble families scatter everywhere. There’s you, Longbottom and Brown in Gryffindor,” Draco said, ticking them off on his fingers.

“Lavender Brown?”

“Yes, that’s her. Then in Ravenclaw there’s Boot, and…uh… Greg, who’s that Noble family girl in Ravenclaw? The blonde?”

“Amanda Brocklehurst,” Gregory said. “Her mother’s a Squib.”

“Right, her. Not a Traditionalist, sadly. Nor is Boot, though Stephen’s been chatting with him a bit. But they’re not friends or allies, so it’s not doing a lot of good. Bones definitely isn’t – the war you know,” he added, looking suddenly awkward, and the topic died off.

Harry wrote a letter to the Appleby’s manager that evening, and Jacob was thrilled to be receive an invitation from Harry to attend a Hogwarts Quidditch match. He swiftly wrote back a rambling letter full of nostalgic anecdotes about his time at Hogwarts (when he was captain of the Hufflepuff team), and said he’d be delighted to be there in November.

-000-

Harry was nervous about meeting with the DADA teacher on his own. While he might have been one of his parents’ friends… Sirius Black had been a trusted friend of theirs too, once upon a time, and Snape had been his mother’s friend. And both of them became Death Eaters! His parents’ judgement clearly hadn’t been perfect. So he asked Hermione and Neville to wait with him after class one day, and he passed on the book from his parents’ will to Professor Lupin rather perfunctorily. He hoped the man wouldn’t have a meltdown about it like Professor Snape had about his gift, and thank Merlin, he didn’t.

“Perhaps you’d like to join me some time for tea,” Professor Lupin invited politely, as he flipped through his copy of _Dreadful Denizens of the Deep_. “We could have a bit of a chat.”

“Another time, perhaps,” said Harry, refusing politely. “I’m rather busy at the moment.”

And he really was. As the school year got underway and the teachers finished their introductory lessons and got right into the thick of teaching, Harry was finding it all a bit overwhelming. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he wasn’t trying to also fit in studying English, Maths, Biology, and a couple of languages. Though those last subjects weren’t too hard, it still took time completing the tutor-marked assignments. And just to take care of those last few pesky bits of free time, he’d started getting mail from Dudley, who seemed pleased to hear he was still alive, and had subsequently sent through notes on a science project he wanted help with. On top of which, he was _still_ trying to carefully massage some of his grades to be just where he wanted them to be, and that meant extra study for all of his core subjects.

Not having the time to do the research himself for some of his pet projects, Harry started calling in some of his favours. Alice Tolipan, who was just starting her Fifth Year, apologetically said she didn’t know what spell Professor Lupin would’ve used to make a silvery wolf that could drive off Dementors, but she’d look into it. She reported back the next day that it was the “Patronus Charm”, and a NEWT level spell. Harry asked what book he could find it in, but apparently she’d just asked the teacher – something he’d been a bit reluctant to do himself, as he was trying to limit his contact with the man as much as possible. Feeling a bit paranoid due to the events of the past couple of years, he’d smuggled Storm into DADA class one day, and Storm reported that Professor Lupin smelt a bit “special”, and not simply like an ordinary “Clever-man”, which worried him a bit. He’d warned his friends, and they’d promised to be careful around him (some taking him more seriously than others).

Percy couldn’t cast it – it wasn’t in the _Standard Book of Spells_ series, and wasn’t a required spell to learn for your Defence NEWT exam. Harry got Draco to relay a request for a meet-up with Peregrine Derrick next, but he couldn’t cast it either.

“I already asked Professor Flitwick for help,” Harry explained, “and he said it was a NEWT level or Mastery level charm and beyond my ability level. I thought maybe you’d know it, being in Sixth Year?”

Derrick shook his head in the negative, to Harry’s disappointment. “You _do_ recall that Professor Lockhart taught us last year? He had a… creative approach to class lessons. Frankly, I was fortunate to get an E on my OWL, and that was due to a lot of diligent private study in the evenings on my part. Mine was one of the highest grades in our whole year, I assure you. There wasn’t time to focus on anything except the basics, and a couple of ostentatious spells to impress the examiners. Perchance I might be able to render some less direct assistance, however. I will find out what book that Charm is covered in, and get Flint or Montague to acquire it for you. And I’ll practice it with you, if you like. Would that suit you?”

“Sounds good. I know it’s not in the _Standard Book of Spells_ series. And if there’s a second book that covers Dementors, two books would be fine. Weaknesses, ways to sneak past them, defences against them.” Harry still hadn’t decided what to do about Tom’s - Voldemort’s – cursed diary. But he couldn’t even _get_ to it right now, with a swarm of Dementors guarding the perimeter of the grounds like hungry wolves set to guard the sheep.

“I’m not sure there is a tome like that in the library…” Derrick said doubtfully.

“Yeah… yes, I understand since Ghoul Studies was cancelled, a lot of the spookier books were withdrawn from circulation.”

“Indeed,” said Derrick, with a raised eyebrow. “I do hope you’ll pardon my curiosity, but… why the interest in Dementors?”

“For when they attack the school of course.”

“Merlin ward us! Why would they do that? Do you think the Minister is going to try and assassinate Dumbledore?! Have you had a _vision_?”

“Whoa, calm down. I haven’t heard of any _plan_ , and I’m no Seer, it’s simply… why _wouldn’t_ a stray Dementor or two, or a whole bunch of them even, try and feed off some happy thoughts or souls here at the school? It sounds like an accident waiting to happen – sooner or later they’re going to get hungry. And didn’t you hear what happened on the train?”

“ _The Prophet_ said some students panicked, and cast spells at a Dementor guard unnecessarily.”

“You heard wrong. Well… I think you did. I don’t know if it started out provoked or not, but it was advancing into Weasley’s compartment and wouldn’t back down. Then it went for me. I suppose I did provoke it. I tried to set it on fire,” he admitted, a bit embarrassed. “But it _was_ trying to attack Ron Weasley and his sister Ginny. They were screaming for help. Draco cast a spell at it too. Professor Lupin had to drive it off, in the end.”

“Is that privileged information?”

“What? Oh, can you share it? Sure, you can tell people about it if you like. For what good it’ll do. Just don’t share my research interest in Dementors.”

“You have my word, Potter.”

-000-

Draco kept asking about his plans to have a DADA club to practice defence, as did Daphne, Hermione and Neville. Gregory seemed keen for more practice too, and praised Harry’s skills to the others. But Harry put them all off for now. “I’m really struggling to juggle my studies at the moment, I just don’t have the time.”

“Sorry Harry,” said Hermione, looking very guilty.

“We didn’t mean to be a bother,” apologised Neville.

“It’s alright. I know we all thought it was a good idea. Give me another few weeks or so to settle into things, okay? I might get my system better sorted out by then. If you’ve got time, my advice is to work on the Knockback Jinx and the Disarming Charm. They’re good basics for a duel. Oh, and the Summoning Charm is good for getting their wand once they’re disarmed.”

Hermione looked astonished. “Harry! That’s a Fourth Year Charm! You can cast that?”

“Oh, uh… no. I’ve just read about it. You know I like to read ahead sometimes,” he said, matter of factly.

“Can you cast it?” she demanded again.

“No?”

“Harry,” she said sternly, tapping her foot, “this isn’t like Muggle primary school where no-one wants to be friends with the smart kid. We’re all… well not adults perhaps but we’re _teenagers_ , not little kids. I’m not going to be angry at you if you beat me in Charms again this year, I promise. Did you stop being my friend because I beat you in five other subjects? No, you did not. And neither of us stopped being friends with Neville for beating us _both_ in Herbology and coming top of the year for that. I’m asking you one last time, bearing in mind I know for a fact that you can cast a _fifth year_ Shield Charm at least a little bit… Can you cast the Summoning spell?”

“A bit?” he suggested hesitantly. “I’m not very good at it.”

“Was that so hard?”

“It sounded hard for him, actually,” mumbled Gregory. “I would say I could cast it, if I could. People would be pretty impressed. And he’s really good at the Shield Charm. Even Montague and Derrick said so.”

“I don’t like being gossiped about,” Harry said, uncomfortably.

“Your guardians may not encourage academic excellence, but if you want to achieve-” Hermione cut herself off mid-rant, after she noticed Neville nudging her and giving her a pointed look. She switched gears and spoke more softly. “It’s alright to do well. I’m proud of you as my friend for doing so well at Charms, Harry.”

“Really?”

“Really truly.”

“Well _I’m_ envious,” complained Draco. “I can’t cast those spells. I blame Lockhart and Quirrell. And Mumble-bore of course, for the _appalling_ level of instruction provided at Hogwarts. I did come top in Potions, mind you,” he said with false modesty.

“Yes, well done,” said Hermione politely. “And I came top of History of Magic, and Defence. I almost got Transfiguration, too, but that went to a Ravenclaw in the end. I’ll get it this year,” she said determinedly.

“I thought Tracey might come top of History?” said Harry, a bit surprised. “Not that you’re not good at History, Hermione, it’s just that I know Tracey loves it so.”

Daphne shrugged. “She adores it, she knows it backwards and forwards, and reads History books for entertainment rather than novels. But she doesn’t always write on the exams what Binns wants to give an O for. She can be stubborn like that.”

“Yeah, he marked my holiday essay on witch burnings lower than I expected,” said Harry with a shrug. “I got a D.”

“A _Dreadful_!” said Hermione, appalled. “But yours was a good essay with excellent referencing! Easily E standard!”

“E or A, I thought. ‘Dreadful’ seemed a bit unfair. I guess it wasn’t smart to argue the basic premise and say that the witch burnings _weren’t_ pointless. They don’t mind me doing that in my English assignments, so long as I make a good case.”

Draco was still mulling over the problem of inadequate DADA instruction. “I’m going to get father to hire me a tutor at Yule. A professional duelling champion, perhaps.”

“But you can’t cast spells in the holidays!” objected Hermione.

“Perhaps _you_ can’t,” smirked Daphne, and she exchanged a grin with Draco. But they wouldn’t tell Hermione how he was planning to get around the restrictions, and they eventually started bickering enough about it that Neville and Harry had to split the group up and call it a day.

-000-

Harry poked at a slimy Flobberworm in a tray unhappily. “Sir? Professor Hagrid? I think perhaps there’s been some mistake. Our class has been covering Flobberworms for weeks now. Perhaps we should be moving on to a new animal?” Harry refused to try and stuff the useless little creatures with shredded lettuce any longer. He’d learnt everything there was to know about them – they were brown, grew up to a foot long, liked damp soil, preferred lettuce over any other food but would die if you fed them too much of it, and their only redeeming merit was their usefulness in Potions for a thickening or grounding effect, due to their association with the Earth element. He was heartily sick of them, and couldn’t see what made them magical, but Storm had assured him they were, and that the small ones were very tasty. Harry had fetched him a little Flobberworm for a semi-scientific sniff test for “specialness” compared with other more ordinary worms, which quickly turned into a taste test. Storm moved fast when he really wanted to.

Hagrid complained for a while about how he knew Flobberworms weren’t as interesting as other creatures, but they’d have to keep learning about them for a while yet.

“I’ve bin told ter stick with safe creatures tha’ would naught hurt no-one,” he rumbled, with a miserable glance at Draco.

“Great, you broke our teacher,” Harry muttered angrily to Draco, under cover of getting more lettuce.

“He deserved it, miserable useless giant. His wretched Hippogriff almost killed me!”

“Do you want to study Flobberworms for the rest of the year? This class is useless now. I’m barely getting any sleep trying to cram in all my work, and now I have to write off another class as totally useless? No. Enough. You broke it – you fix it!” Harry glared at him crossly.

Draco scowled angrily at Harry, then his shoulders slumped as he sighed. “I’ll write to father. I suppose I’m getting tired of Flobberworms too.”

“That’s the spirit. Get him to push for a proper curriculum outline for the year.”

It took a bit of explaining, but Draco eventually got the gist of what he was advising, and Hermione jumped in enthusiastically with her own ideas about curriculum planning based on the Ministry of Magic Classifications for creatures when she overheard what they were discussing. Neville ignored their huddle, and just kept working patiently with the Flobberworms with Pansy. He had some theories about optimal dirt composition and composting he was testing with his worms.  

Thanks to her discoveries about house-elves, Hermione had learnt her lesson about the value of research before leaping to conclusions, and wanted to double-check their base assumption before they proceeded any further.

She waved her hand in the air, but launched into her question as soon as the Professor turned in her direction. “Excuse me, Professor Hagrid?”

“Yes?”

“Exactly _how long_ are you planning for us to study Flobberworms?” she asked politely.

“Might take a while. D’pends what the Governors say about poor Steelclaw, I s’pose. Can’t go teaching yeh abou’ ‘dangerous’ critters less’n they say it’s alright.”

“And the Board will be meeting when exactly?”

“I don’ rightly know. Not until after Halloween.”

“Thank you, Professor,” she said politely, before turning back to their huddle. “Right then. We _definitely_ need to do something.”

“I think he should be made to have a plan for what he’ll teach to each year level – perhaps it’s not just our class that’s suffering. You know, Professor Babbling is very organised, perhaps we could encourage her to give him some advice?”

“Oh yes!” agreed Hermione. “She’s brilliant, isn’t she?”

“How would you know? You don’t have her as a teacher.”

“Err, well that’s what I’ve _heard_. She sounds good,” said Hermione, sounding a bit flustered.

“Heard from who? I’m the only Gryffindor left in Runes.” Harry glanced at Draco, who shrugged.

“Not me. Apart from this, I’m doing Divination and Arithmancy.”

“Oh, it was… Percy,” said Hermione. Harry looked at her guilty face a little suspiciously, but let it go.

Their Flobberworms were happy and alive at the end of the class (unlike some other students’ worms) having been peacefully neglected and allowed to just burrow into the dirt in their trays. And Harry, Draco and Hermione had a rough plan of action they’d worked out together. They’d recommend to their Heads of House that Hagrid be encouraged to teach the Ministry of Magic Classified X and XX creatures to the third years, such as Gnomes, Clabberts, and Fairies, and that he should develop a comprehensive curriculum plan with advice from other teachers. And Draco was going to write to his father about their suggestion. Hermione was shocked to hear he was pushing for the Hippogriff to be put down, but Draco was stubborn about it.

Harry tried to be the voice of reason as they left class still chatting about it, trailed by Neville, Gregory, and Pansy walking a little way behind them. “If a dog bit someone and caused that kind of injury, it’d be put down.”

“Not necessarily,” she argued stubbornly. “Sometimes you just have to keep them behind a better fence, or put a muzzle on them when you take them for walks. And in any case, dogs aren’t an endangered magical species. You shouldn’t try and have it killed just because it hurt you, Draco! Ron told everyone all about it – you were insulting it, and you _know_ that has to be what triggered its attack. Professor Hagrid was very clear about the value of courtesy.”

“I don’t believe that oaf was _at all_ clear on the matter, and I would hope you would trust my word over a _Weasley’s_ ,” Draco sneered.

“I suppose it _is_ endangered,” said Harry. “Perhaps it could simply be relocated. There must be other Hippogriff herds. Ones where they won’t come into contact with children. They should relocate any others in the herd who might be less domesticated, too.”

“I’m glad you’ve changed your mind about killing it!” Hermione said happily, then turned to glare at Draco. “Perhaps _some_ people might see sense now-”

“- _No_ ,” Harry said sternly, interrupting her sniping at Draco. “Perhaps you’re right that it shouldn’t be killed – you have convinced me there. But Draco’s quite entitled to be angry at a creature that almost killed him, no matter if he provoked it or not. The lesson should’ve been better supervised, and with more theoretical preparation about what we’d be dealing with. We couldn’t even read ahead about them, with those stupid biting books! When you take all that into consideration, it _is_ the Professor’s fault Draco got hurt!”

“-Oh, I suppose so,” she conceded, taken aback. “I wanted to read ahead too. That was rather a problem, wasn’t it? I still don’t think it should be killed, though. Well, let’s agree to disagree, I suppose.”

Draco was smugly satisfied. Harry had sided with _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to LeGC for a comment left back on the “Parseltongue” fic. I tweaked Harry’s pondering on Lupin in this chapter to try and make it a bit more obvious why he’s distrustful of the man - in addition to his instilled wariness of DADA teachers, the fact Lupin was a friend of his parents doesn’t count for a lot with him (Snape and Black both becoming Death Eaters doesn’t speak well for their judgement, and he’s never heard from Lupin ever before).


	10. Harry's Genius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry discusses Patroni with Ambrosius, and meets with Dumbledore.

**_October, 1993_ **

He’d read up on the Patronus Charm now, but practising it with Derrick wasn’t going as well as Harry had hoped. Neither of them were getting anything more than silver mist – definitely not the animal protector that was called for. At least his Shield Charm was improving dramatically with focused tutoring.

He had another helper to advise him, though, on some more secret Charms practice sessions. Ambrosius was delighted to have Harry’s company while he worked on various spells, though he advised him that the snake gargoyle was likely to strike if he did any spells in the direction of the mosaic, so Harry was _extremely_ careful to face side-on for all his casting.

And Ambrosius treated him to a lecture on what he knew about Dementors and Patroni, though he had other names for them. For Patronus in Latin just meant your patron – your protector.

“Your Genius as the Romans knew it, or Patronus as you call it, is the protective spirit that watches over you. For women, it is known as a Juno. The Greeks called these kind spirits Daemons. But the Christians learnt to hate wizards and witches making offerings to any spirits at all, no matter if they were benevolent Lares such as the Genii, or the more malicious spirits like the dangerous Lemures, which you call Dementors.”

“Will you tell me more about the Lemures? Are they definitely the same creatures as Dementors?”

“I could not say for certain without seeing them, but from your description I see no room for much doubt on the matter. Lemures are angry spirits that have escaped from the underworld. They bring darkness and dread wherever they pass. Their sustenance is the spirits of those who make them no offerings, or who have wronged them. They float slowly, and are nocturnal in nature, shunning the bright sunlight and cheerful places where the kinder Lares congregate. For they are the enemies of the Genii and other benevolent Lares. If you wish to propitiate Lemures, an offering of black beans at midnight will show good will and a willingness to bring them further sacrifices when you can – there are some dates in May particularly suited to making them offerings. A sacrifice of black rams or bulls if possible, of course. Or if you wish merely to frighten them away and have not yet earned the favour of your Genius, the banging of bronze pots is a sound they hate. They usually prey upon those who never make offerings, and lurk in deserted areas where the Genii are few.”

“I’ve heard of ‘Genies’ – spirits that you can trap in bottles. Well, in Muggle stories – myths. I’m not sure about if they’re real in the wizarding world. Are they the same thing?”

“Yes and no. I’ve heard of them – some types of Lares that can be entrapped in a properly rune-enchanted container. The wizards of the Arabian Caliphates certainly were skilled, by all accounts! The Genius we’re discussing the matter at the moment is a particular kind of family spirit, a protective one that you may see manifesting like shining silver mist as it is drawn to defend you from harm. It is a gentle, protective spirit that is often around you unseen, and can inspire you to achieve more than you thought you were capable of. A man’s Genius may take a unique form to match his temperament, or it may be a form particular to his family. A woman’s Juno will often change to match her husband’s, upon marriage. If there is no particular animal you feel strongly about, or that your family has a tradition of worshipping, your Genius will usually appear as a snake.”

“Mine in particular?”

“No, it is the same for anyone. It was the most common form for many citizens, you may see it in many paintings or carvings, if such things survived the fall of Rome. I’d advise that if your Genius is reluctant to appear in your defence that you propitiate it with offerings at your family altar, to encourage good will so it may be called upon more easily.”

Harry chewed his lip. “My family manor was destroyed years ago, and I didn’t see a shrine of any kind at Potter Cottage.” He wondered what form his Genius would take.

“I know you are young yet, but as the paterfamilias, the Head of your family, it is your duty to make offerings to the household spirits. And your personal Genius should receive offerings on your birthday, in particular.”

“I’ve never heard of that tradition.”

“Well, those less tolerant who followed the Christian faith frowned greatly on wizards and witches making offerings to their personal daemons. Perhaps it is no surprise such traditions have been lost.

“The Theodosian edicts in the fourth century by the last Emperor of the unified Roman Empire imposed capital punishment on those who dared to sacrifice to their genius on their birthday. Emperor Theodosius favoured the new religion over the Old Ways – death or punishment awaited those who disagreed. Our traditions and those of the mortal world diverged even further, as we were forced to hide our magic even more than before. I was sad to witness it – once we worked openly with those people who appreciated and valued our gifts, and respected our heritage.”

They chatted for a little while about angels and demons, which Ambrosius insisted were just different types of Lares, and how you’d go about setting up a shrine or altar. Ambrosius was sorry to hear how thoroughly Slytherin’s quarters had been stripped of all belongings and furniture, even the altar that once stood there.

“There was more here when Tom last visited me, apparently. He must have removed even the last few belongings,” he sighed sadly. “It is sad to hear even the household shrine is gone.”

Harry decided to change the topic, and encouraged Ambrosius to tell him a bit about the Founders. He made notes as they spoke in the beautiful dark red leather diary that Lucius Malfoy had given him. While Storm had insisted there was no magic on it, he’d paranoidly checked with Professor Flitwick just in case, who’d understood his concerns about gifts of diaries after the events of last year. He also pronounced it clean, after a barrage of spells, which was very reassuring. With the Potter crest on the front, and lovely watermarks of snakes on each page, Harry thought it would be perfect for keeping important historical notes in. He wrote in invisible ink, however, so that no-one would glance at it and see notes about things he should know nothing about.

“One thing you should understand about Hogwarts is that it wasn’t just built to be a school as you know it now, it was built as a fortress. A fortress to host young apprentices come to learn magic and a trade, but also with the goal of protection against Muggles, including the Norman invaders.”

“What did they teach, back then?”

“Magic, naturally! That was the main focus. And it was quite the modern innovation to bring so many apprentices together to learn magic at once. But few could make a living openly as a wizard or witch in that era, so all apprentices were expected to learn a trade, as well as keeping up with their magical studies.

“Slytherin taught warding, charms, etiquette, geography and navigation, and basic arithmetic. Gryffindor instructed those with aptitude in transfigurations and magic suitable for battles, and how to best defeat magical creatures. He also taught about the arts of war, hunting and trapping, riding, and animal husbandry. Madam Hufflepuff oversaw the gardens and kitchens, and taught potions, propitiation of spirits, farming, and various household skills and charms. Ravenclaw was their scholar who bewitched the main hall – she was skilled with both runes and charms, and taught reading, writing, history, Latin, astronomy, and advanced mathematics and Arithmancy.”

Harry scribbled away furiously. “What were the Houses like back then? Many people say now that all the bad people go to Slytherin. Would you say Salazar Slytherin was a wicked man?”

“Wicked? No, I wouldn’t say so. He disagreed with the other Founders about appropriate security for Hogwarts, but I wouldn’t say that made him evil. He left when he could no longer stand the arguments. They were rather fractious by the end, there.

“As to the Sorting, well I suppose you know that Godric enchanted his hat to do the Sorting for them once they were gone, but in the early days they picked students themselves. The problem was, you see, that the younger and more foolish apprentices would often apply to study under one of the four Founders that they most admired, not the one whose teachings would best suit their own talents or calling in life. So the Founders started assigning students to a Master rather than allowing them to choose for themselves.

“Slytherin, your house, wasn’t for the wicked. It was for the future traders and aristocrats – the talented, ambitious and cunning, with pride in their families. The explorers, the leaders and diplomats, the dreamers and planners. Hufflepuff taught the farmers, artisans, and the maidens who looked forward to being housewives – the patient and hardworking, who know that creation takes time, and who valued their communities and what they made with their hands most of all. Ravenclaw took the priests and the scholars – the intelligent and finicky, who love to read and have wit and dedication enough to spend hours at a desk learning the difficult arts of mathematics and Latin. She didn’t want those who merely wanted to learn enough to get by, she only wanted those who were determined to excel at their studies. I know she found it frustrating when someone wanted to apprentice to her who simply didn’t have the native intelligence to flourish under her tutelage. Gryffindor was mostly for those such as hunters and warriors – those brave enough and strong enough to rely on their bodies for a living, who know that taking great risks can yield great rewards.”

“Thank you for sharing that. But, uh, just so you know, I’m not actually in Slytherin. I’m in Gryffindor.”

He looked very taken aback. “That’s rather a shock! All the other Heirs were in Slytherin.”

“Well, the Sorting Hat did _want_ to put me there, but Slytherin House has such a bad reputation, and I didn’t want people judging or bullying me, so…” Harry shrugged.

“So it picked Gryffindor.”

“Ravenclaw, actually,” Harry admitted, a bit embarrassed. “Gryffindor was its third choice. It wouldn’t put me in Hufflepuff no matter how much I argued with it that I was best suited to go there.”

Ambrosius laughed heartily at him for quite a while, despite Harry’s sulky face. “Want a quiet life as a farmer, do you? Or maybe you want a future as a weaver of fine rugs? Do you see yourself blessing all the neighbours’ crops so they produce a record yield? Do you dream of a future where you settle down with a wife and a dozen children?”

“Uh no, not really. I want to be a doctor and a Healer. Save lives. Maybe reform how the wizarding world sees medicine, because it’s quite backwards at the moment. Perhaps find out where magic comes from and how it runs in families. It will take a lot of study after Hogwarts, of course. Years in fact. So no hurry on settling down to raise a family.” Harry blushed at the thought.

“That’s Slytherin and perhaps Ravenclaw, with ambition like that and a dedication to studying. Hufflepuff!” he snorted amusedly on the last word.

Harry scowled at him. “There’s nothing wrong with Hufflepuff. Hard work, patience, and diligence are fine traits, and everyone likes having loyal friends.” People were _always_ underestimating Hufflepuff. It wasn’t the house of the leftovers at _all_.

“I didn’t say Hufflepuff was a poor House, lad. It’s simply that the traits Helga wanted in her apprentices are not foremost in your nature. I can see that easily enough and I’ve barely met you. This is exactly why the apprentices didn’t get to pick who would be best suited as their Master.”

Harry put his quill down and cast a quick ink-drying charm, and put his embroidered bookmark in his journal to mark his place. He was done for today. But as Ambrosius fretted over when he’d come back again, his grumpy mood softened, and he promised he’d return as soon as he could.

-000-

Harry looked worriedly at the note in his hands that Professor McGonagall had dropped off to him at breakfast. Dumbledore wanted to meet with him – and he had no idea why.

“What’s the letter about?” asked Hermione as she observed his worried looks, carefully _not_ peeking at his correspondence, but unable to control her curiosity altogether.

“The Headmaster wants to meet with me at lunch time. But he doesn’t say why. He just said I should meet him, and gave the password for his office. Don’t you think it’s a bit strange to have a gargoyle guarded office? Do you think he sleeps up there – is it like a dorm? Where _do_ the teachers sleep?” he chattered nervously.

Neville buttered another slice of toast, and gave Harry a thoughtful look. “I have no prior engagement for lunch. I’ll come with you Harry.”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m coming.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Yes, I do.” Neville ignored his futile protestations, and started eating his toast like the conversation was finished.

Hermione turned to Neville. “I don’t think you’re invited, are you?”

Neville just shrugged and chewed his toast. Harry was quietly grateful to him, but too embarrassed to admit it out loud.

And come lunch time, Neville stuck to Harry like a burr at the end of class. Harry dug in his bag and pulled out a couple of apples. “Here you go, since you’re missing lunch for me.” He tossed an apple to Neville, who caught it with a bit of fumbling, and Harry bit into the other one himself.

“Thanks Harry. Why do you do that, anyway? Carry food around all the time?”

“Well, just in case I get hungry.”

“But there’s as much food as you want three times a day.”

“Not if I get in trouble and end up with a detention,” argued Harry. “I might miss out on a meal or two. And sometimes I’m too busy studying to make it to the table.”

“You hardly ever get detentions!”

“It’s just a habit. And look how handy it is right now!” insisted Harry, who had no intention whatsoever of discussing his habit borne of too many hungry days locked in his cupboard, long ago. He felt nervous whenever he didn’t have food cached away for emergencies. “Chocolate frog,” he said to the gargoyle at the secret entrance to Dumbledore’s office, and it slid aside for him and Neville.

“Harry, my boy!” said Dumbledore jovially, as he entered, but he looked puzzledly at Neville. “Mr. Longbottom? I don’t recall asking you to join us?”

“No sir,” Neville said politely. “I won’t be a bother, I’ll just sit in the corner and wait for Harry. If there’s time we’re going to do a bit of study together before Charms.”

“You’re most welcome to wait outside,” said the Headmaster.

“Oh, th-that’s alright, I’ll just wait over here,” Neville said, walking away to edge past a number of spindly tables with odd silver devices on them, to sit on a small footstool next to a bookshelf. He pulled out his Charms textbook to read, acting self-assured, but Harry could see by the noticeable hunch of his shoulders he was actually really nervous about getting in trouble. The Headmaster looked distinctly nonplussed.

“Neville’s fine,” Harry said dismissively. “What did you want to meet with me about, sir?” Harry asked, trying to attract the Headmaster’s attention towards himself.

“Ah, Harry, well if you don’t mind Mr. Longbottom staying even if private matters are discussed…”

“Not at all.”

Dumbledore looked perplexed still, but forged ahead. “Lemon drop? No?” he said as Harry shook his head. “Well Harry, I wanted to talk with you about your problems with mail. I understand you’ve been receiving quite the flood of letters! I’ve investigated the matter and I believe the problem is that an owl ward to prevent unsavoury types and strangers from bombarding you with potentially cursed correspondence has lapsed for some reason.”

Harry stiffened. It _was_ him. He knew it. He knew Dumbledore had been the one to cast that dratted owl ward he’d had to pay to have removed and replaced. “I’m not experiencing any problems with mail, sir.”

Dumbledore looked sternly at him, trying to catch his eye. Harry watched his cheek. There was a blotchy spot on one cheekbone, just above his beard. Maybe a big mole, but it was very flat. _Calm thoughts – still calm thoughts, connect with your magic_ , Harry thought, remembering Draco’s tips in his letters over summer. Harry carefully thought about weeding the garden at Privet Drive. Gardening was always soothing.

“I understand you’ve been receiving a large number of letters from strangers, even former Death Eaters. I think you don’t understand how potentially dangerous that could be for you, m’boy.”

 _I’m not your boy_ , Harry thought crossly. “Yes, I did receive some mail from Professor Snape after I left Privet Drive over summer,” he conceded. “I believe he had the best of intentions in writing, however.”

“What? No, that’s not who I was referring to!” Dumbledore protested. “Severus has my full trust.” He picked up a newspaper clipping from the top of a pile of papers on his desk, and passed it to Harry. “A friend sent me this – she was rather concerned for you.”

Harry glanced at it briefly, recognising it instantly as he’d already seen a copy of it. In the picture accompanying the article, Harry was shaking hands with the beaming visage of the Minister for Magic, while Mrs. Malfoy rested a hand on his shoulder protectively and smiled graciously for the camera. _Boy Who Lived Supports St. Mungo’s_ , declared the headline, which went on to talk about the St. Mungo’s benefit dinner, with chatty detail about the important people who’d attended, and what everyone was wearing. The only thing that had surprised Harry about the article when he’d read it was the omission of information about Potter Cottage. He suspected bribery or influence there, on someone’s part.

“I meant the Malfoy family,” clarified Dumbledore. “You may not be aware of it, but Mr. Malfoy has a rather dark past.”

“Oh, yes sir. But I believe my choices in correspondents are entirely at my own discretion.”

“Well, I’ll just fix you up with a new owl ward, since the old one has broken,” pronounced Dumbledore, drawing his wand.

Harry drew his wand in return and took a nervous step backwards, and seeing this Neville set his book aside and rummaged in his bag hastily for his own wand, though Neville didn’t point his at anyone. “ _No_ , sir. I am _very_ happy with the current state of affairs, and refuse permission in the strongest possible terms.”

Dumbledore looked bewildered to see Harry’s wand pointed straight at him, and lowered his to his side. “But you are quite unprotected against cursed mail. You don’t understand how common that is, and the depths of maliciousness that some people can sink to. You have _enemies_ , Harry. One of them seeks your death even now.”

Harry shook his head, and lowered his wand slightly since Dumbledore was doing so. “That may be so, but it gives you no right to cast such spells on me without my permission. In fact I _have_ an owl ward on me already to deal with cursed mail.”

“No, it’s broken,” Dumbledore said, speaking extra slowly and carefully. “That protection is gone. I have heard from Professor McGonagall about your correspondence with the Appleby Arrows manager and how you’ve invited him to come to the November Quidditch match. Which is perfectly fine, though do ask Professor McGonagall for permission on such matters in advance, on future occasions. However, you should not have been receiving mail from strangers in the first place – it’s dangerous. Your ward has broken down entirely.”

“ _Your_ ward is broken. _My new ward_ is working just fine.”

“I see… a _new_ ward? Professionally set?”

Harry nodded curtly.

“Not cast by the Malfoy family, I hope?”

Harry shook his head in the negative. Not that it was any of his business.

“I was merely concerned you not fall prey to the machinations of Black or Death Eaters or others who mean you harm, Harry,” Dumbledore said mournfully. “As Headmaster I act in loco parentis for students who are unprotected in this world.”

 _Like you did for the petrified students_ , Harry thought angrily. _Like you do for Neville_. Calm. Pruning rosebushes. Working in the kitchen – dicing carrots. Sneaking carrot to eat. Slicing celery.

“I’m concerned about your continuing association with the Malfoys. And I understand you and Ron Weasley have had a falling out you have yet to repair.”

“Yes sir. Rest assured I shall take due care in all my associations to only befriend the most trustworthy of individuals. Is that all? Because I have some study to do before Charms.” Harry knew he wasn’t being very polite, but he didn’t really care very much at this point.

Dumbledore sighed, and tucked his wand away, so Harry matched him, and Neville settled back down to pretend to read some more. “One last thing. I regret to inform you that you will not be permitted to visit Hogsmeade.”

“I handed in my signed permission slip to Professor McGonagall. Has it been misplaced?” Harry asked sceptically.

“No, it is merely too unsafe for you to visit Hogsmeade, with Sirius Black sighted not too far from here.”

“So the Hogsmeade visits are cancelled until he’s caught? There’s going to be a lot of disappointed students, sir.”

“Not cancelled, my boy, it’s simply that you personally would make too tempting a target for Mr. Black.”

Harry stiffened angrily. “So it’s fine to risk all the other childrens’ lives, then. It’s only me who has to stay behind. Either it’s safe or it’s not!”

“I’m sorry, Harry. This is for your own good.”

“I’d prefer it if you would address me as Mr. Potter, or Potter. _Sir_.”

Dumbledore sighed. The boy was just angry – he didn’t see this was for his own protection. “Dismissed, Mr. Potter.”

Neville grabbed his bag and followed Harry as he stalked out. On the way out, Harry noticed the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black, his great-great-grandfather, giving him a covert approving nod and a wink, though some of the other old Headmasters’ portraits seemed to be muttering complaints about the decline in respectful behaviour from students compared to back in _their_ day, and arguing over whether a switch, a hex, or being hung up in chains would be better for teaching him manners and respect for the august position of Headmaster.

Harry remembered on the way out that he’d forgotten to seize his chance to check the birth and death dates for Headmaster Dippet on his portrait, for Ambrosius. But it would look really stupid to double back and linger in Dumbledore’s office after he’d been ordered out. He’d have to see what records were in the library, instead.

“I can get you stuff from Hogsmeade, if you like, Harry,” offered Neville, as they headed off towards Charms.

Harry stopped in a more deserted corridor that didn’t have any portraits around, and dug in his bag for more snacks, finding a wrapped up scone spread with jam to divide with Neville. He plopped to the ground crossly, and Neville sat down with him.

“It’s not that. I mean, I would like to see it, but I was also planning to visit Grantown-on-Spey. I have a plan, to use my broomstick and invisibility cloak – it should be pretty easy to get there. But first I have to get out of the Hogwarts grounds past the Dementors, and I need to visit Hogsmeade to do that.”

“Why would you want to go to a Muggle town?”

Harry bristled angrily. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to do normal stuff! Make some phone calls to my tutor, buy a pizza to eat for a bit of a change! See if there’s a movie theatre!”

Neville flinched. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Just because you’re only familiar with wizarding towns-”

“-I attended a Muggle primary school for three months,” interrupted Neville.

Harry’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“Remember how Great Uncle Algie dropped me out of a window and I bounced? They were all so happy. That was when I was about eight. But a couple of years later, there were still no reoccurrences of accidental magic – not one. My wand – dad’s wand - didn’t even let out a single spark when I got it, not like my new one you got for me. They thought maybe I wouldn’t have enough magic to cast spells or go to Hogwarts.

“So Gran enrolled me at a Muggle school for the last term, just in case I didn’t get my Hogwarts letter. They all said it would be kinder that way,” he said bitterly. “I could get some experience mixing with my ‘own kind’, and it would prepare me for ‘grammar school’. The teachers put me in some kind of ‘remedial’ class. They thought I was an idiot, because I didn’t know about electricity or gravity or who the Queen was, and I couldn’t do long division or play football. Minutiae like that. It was pretty miserable. I learnt loads, mind you. While I was occupied with that, however, people like Malfoy got to have Potions tutors and learn how to fly on a broomstick.”

“I’m sorry, Nev, I didn’t know.”

“It’s alright. I just… want you to know that while I still don’t know how a ‘fridge’ works without ice or magic, and I’m sure I couldn’t pass Muggle Studies, I do know a little bit about Muggle towns. I promise I wouldn’t embarrass you, if you wanted some company. I wouldn’t mind going along - just for fun. If I’m not a bother. I was just asking _why_ you wanted to go there so badly. And you know, I bet Hermione would like to come too.”

“Sorry, I was an idiot,” Harry apologised again. “I reckon she might. But would she dob on us to a teacher? I think it’s against the rules. I’ll sound her out on it. Anyway, it’s all academic, since I’m banned from going.”

“That’s most unfortunate,” sympathised Neville. “And I cannot believe that the Headmaster tried to cast an owl ward on you without asking! He put the old original ward on, I would venture.”

“Yes, I’m sure he did.” They sat in silence for a moment before Harry summoned up his Gryffindor courage to speak. “Thanks for going with me, Neville,” he muttered quietly, staring at the stone floor. “I’m glad I didn’t have to see the Headmaster on my own.”

Neville smiled. “I am your ally, and your friend. I will guard your back, Harry. Just like you will watch mine.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the information in this chapter about the early running of Hogwarts was inspired by a Livejournal article by Wellingtongoose, and I have their blessing to adapt their musings for my fic. Check out their great article on the topic at: http://wellingtongoose.livejournal.com/32344.html
> 
> Thanks to Thundramon for a helpful discussion about how Dumbledore should worry over Harry associating with Narcissa.
> 
> Are you wondering who the witch was who wrote to Dumbledore worrying about Harry associating with the Malfoys? Hint – she also complained about Harry snubbing Ron’s apologies and refusing to be friends again.


	11. Dark Lord Potter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry plans out a Samhain celebration, which a new student asks to join in, while others enjoy their first Hogsmeade visit. The Halloween feast is interrupted by news of Sirius Black!

**_31 October, 1993_ **

Harry had made a lot of notes about what he wanted to do at the Samhain gathering in the club room. It was written up on the room’s noticeboard of scheduled events as a “Planning Meeting”, but unofficially it would be Harry hosting the non-Slytherin Third Year traditionalists in having a traditional Samhain celebration. Though Daphne suggested that as the Slytherins’ celebration was always held _after_ the Hogwarts Halloween feast, they would try and see if they could come along to Harry’s event as well. Millicent and Pansy were apparently keen to catch up with him socially, and only had permission from their families to do so at large group events.

Harry had chatted with Draco and Daphne about his plans for the evening, and they’d also relayed some advice on the topic from Pansy. He was also mixing in some ideas that Ambrosius had suggested.

The wizard in the mosaic _did_ love to lecture. Though Harry thought it might be more that he was starved for company, as he also seemed keen to chat about topics like the ban on magic carpets, the differences between fountain pens and modern biros, the war with Grindelwald, and how television worked. Anything, really.

“Samhain is primarily a Celtic festival,” Ambrosius explained, “and people have been wearing costumes, telling fortunes, making sacrifices to our people and to spirits, and dancing around bonfires since even before my time. Some of the traditions we follow come from Rome, of course. The older festival of Feralia focused on appeasing the spirits of the dead – the date has changed, but many of the practices were adopted into the holiday of Samhain.

“Unless things have changed, I believe Hogwarts still plays host to a number of restless spirits, being positioned on a leyline node as it is. Some preferred offerings for an altar are grain or ground meal, a sprinkling of salt, bread soaked in wine, and loose violet flowers. Honey, blood, water and wine are acceptable on almost all occasions. Remember to infuse the offerings with your magic, so the dead can taste of your sacrifice. Will you be making any offerings to the Lemures?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Harry said nervously, who thought he might skip the blood part of the offering for ghosts. “At least not until I’ve coaxed my Genius to watch over me.”

“Well, if you do, remember they like black beans, and the blood of sacrificed black animals.”

 _And they’d like to eat Sirius Black’s soul, if they can catch him_ , thought Harry. He wondered if they would like blackberries, or black pudding. Was it a colour thing?

“What would you say a ley line is? How do they work?”

“It’s new terminology… well, ancient from your point of view, I suppose. Some places have always held more magical power, been better for our kind to live in, and tend to attract and sustain all manner of magical creatures. I’ve heard a number of theories about such locations – Lady Ravenclaw loved to theorize about the topic. Her favourite was that they were cracks in the aether where magic from other realms seeped through to ours.”

“Other realms? Really? Like the Summerland – where they say you go when you die?”

“It’s one theory. Olympus. Tír na nÓg. Annwfyn. Álfheimr. Ásgarðr. The Summerland. The Otherworld from whence we came. Rowena, and your ancestor Salazar, thought we may be sustained and empowered by energy from our home realm – that our kind travelled here millennia ago, and were then unable or unwilling to return. The other theory tangentially related to that one is that wizards and witches were once ordinary mortals, but generations of dwelling in places of power changed us. And the most popular stance, at least back in Lady Ravenclaw’s day, was that the lines of power were a network built up through centuries of ritual, and through absorbing power _produced_ by wizards, witches, and magical creatures. Madam Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor favoured that theory. That generations of wizards and magical creatures helped magic carve invisible channels in the aether, and then magic would flow along those channels like water following wheel ruts in a road. Certainly the establishment of the sacred Circles and Arithmantically calculated positioning of menhirs provided a strengthening effect for ley lines, as did sacrifices. But who can truly say if we were _giving_ power to the Circles, or instead _summoning_ it through cracks in the aether, with magic attracted by the power in our blood or our offerings?”

“What do _you_ think?”

“I favour Salazar’s stance – that we are a separate people from the ‘Muggles’, and that our ancestors travelled here from another world. Interbreeding has of course suppressed some of the differences. Much as the Veela of modern times are not at all what they once were, back in my era.”

“Do you think we are a _better_ people?” Harry asked warily.

“Is a Pegasus better than a horse? We are different, and have skills they do not, and that they can never possess. That does not necessarily mean this world should be ours to rule, however. It does not belong to us – I believe we are guests here and should be courteous to our hosts. I have known some great men without a shred of our heritage who were full to the brim with courage and nobility of spirit, and some wicked and deceptive men and women hidden among our own kind.”

“ _I’m bored. I want to know what he’s sssaying_ ,” hissed Storm.

Harry hissed a translation from the Latin to Parseltongue for Storm as he wrote up notes in his journal, and then relayed to Ambrosius Storm’s story that he told in response.

“ _Ssstorm_ wants you to know that in the land he’s from, they tell of the Dreamtime, which is where people come from, or where they go, or a time and a place that is still around. It’s a bit confusing to me, sorry. He says long ago in the Dreaming, in the time of Creation, the world was bare. And the Wandjina came to the world, and they were animal-people, and plant-people – they could change their form if they wanted. And as the ancestors moved across the world, they made the mountains and the rivers and the waterholes as they passed. He says there were great Rainbow Serpents in that time, much, _much_ bigger than him, bigger even than Custos, and they made valleys and mountains as they travelled. When the ancestor spirits knew they were going to die, they put their stories in the caves, and then they became rocks, or trees, or went into the waterholes. Some went to sleep under the earth. Some travelled up into the sky instead and became the stars. He says the paths where they travelled and stopped are what made the lines of magic, which he calls special places, or song lines.

“In Australia, the land far to the south where he’s from, the lines of magic are made or sustained by songs. And some special kinds of dances with a lot of stomping and noise. Sorry – he doesn’t know how to explain that better because he was really just a baby snake when he left home. Anyway, they form paths the First People travelled along, whom I think are the Aborigines. And they link together special places like waterholes, and caves with paintings.”

Storm was pleased when both of them praised him for his storytelling, and that Harry wrote the story down in his journal. Harry then got distracted giving a lesson on world geography to Ambrosius, as he’d never heard of Australia before. Harry was embarrassed to admit he didn’t know much about wizardry over there, though.

“I know they sent wizarding criminals there for a while as well as the Muggle kind, and that it’s not well regarded by the British as a cultural centre for wizardry. I’m sure there’s some native wizards or shamans there of some kind though – my booklet about Rainbow Serpents talked about how they foster out magical creatures to be raised by wizards and witches, because some of the most magical locations there have been urbanized. I’ll look into the history of it if I get a chance.”

-000-

As October drew to a close, Professor Hagrid _finally_ started teaching them about something other than Flobberworms, to everyone’s relief. Bowtruckles weren’t the most fascinating magical creatures around (and were too harmless to even be covered in _The Monster Book of Monsters_ ), but they were better than looking after incredibly boring worms for the tenth time. Hermione was sure it was her talk with Professor McGonagall with a draft curriculum that had done the trick, while Draco maintained his father’s influence with the Board of Governors had brought about the improved standard of teaching. Oddly enough they learnt more about dangerous monsters in Defence Against the Dark Arts, where Professor Lupin taught them a lot about Red Caps and Kappas, and very little about actually defending yourself against the Dark Arts. Harry found it a bit frustrating, but was comforted that at least they were learning _something_ from the teacher, unlike last year.

Neville was doing well in Potions, with his confidence at an all-time high ever since Snape confronted him about his fear of being poisoned for being a Squib. With solid As and a growing number of EEs, he didn’t need any extra tutoring out of class to get by any more, which was good because Harry was still feeling extremely busy with his school work. Hermione seemed to be stressing a lot too, and hiding out to work on her own a lot. With Harry and Hermione going their separate ways to study, and half the Slytherins not talking to Harry out of classes, their study groups were a bit of a mess this year. Harry learnt Hermione was getting sick of Divination already – she had nothing but complaints about the class, ranging from the unskilled nature of the teacher, the gullibility of Lavender and Parvati from her dorm, and how Ron cheated on his homework by just making stuff up.

“Bet you wish now you’d picked Ancient Runes!” said Harry a little smugly. “Professor Babbling is a brilliant teacher, almost as good as Professor Flitwick. It might not be too late to change, if you wanted. I bet you could pick it up fast.”

“No, it’s okay,” Hermione said uncomfortably. “I’ll give it a bit more of a try. Maybe it will be better once we move to something other than tasseomancy and dream interpretation.”

Hogwarts was seeing some more general social changes too, as the new club room opened up its doors not just to the H.E.L.P. Society, but also to the Gobstones Club, a more general Games Club, a few inter-house study groups, and Professor Flitwick’s new “Frog Choir” (which was mostly made up of Ravenclaws with a few talented and keen singers from Hufflepuff). Harry reserved the room for the afternoon of Halloween before the feast, which wasn’t a problem as _most_ people were going to get to go off and have fun at Hogsmeade all day. Without him.

Still, not _all_ the older students were going. The Weasley twins approached Harry with a very specific complaint about that.

“We appreciate that you invited the Appleby Arrows manager to the next Quidditch match-” said one of the red-headed twins that Harry still couldn’t tell apart.

“-Really we do,” the other agreed with a nod.

“But Oliver has gone a bit mad about it,” complained the first. Who was possibly Fred, if his greeting was to be trusted. Which Harry doubted.

“He’s cancelled Hogsmeade visits for the team, so we can practice our drills _all day_ ,” grumbled possibly-George. “For the match is only a week away now.”

“How am I supposed to restock my supply of Stink Pellets?”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. “Ron could get them?”

“He’s Reserve Keeper. Oliver has him doing drills too. So you need to get them for us, as this is really your fault.”

“And just because we’d really appreciate it.”

Harry explained how he was grounded by the Headmaster, due to the threat of Sirius Black, and eventually they conceded that they could get a friend to pick them up.

They weren’t the only people to find Harry that day. As the senior students all emptied out to Hogsmeade in a joyous stampede, Harry retreated to the library to work on a Transfiguration assignment and read ahead in Potions. And after a couple of hours of work peacefully passed by under the approving watchful eye of Madam Pince, he was found there by the second year Gryffindor, Colin Creevey.

“Hi Potter!” he whispered excitedly, doing a little graceful subservient bow that he’d clearly been practising under some pure-blood student’s guidance.

“Greetings, Creevey,” said Harry politely, pushing his chair back to stand so he could do a shallower bow in return.

“Someone told me that you really _are_ the Heir of Slytherin, even though you didn’t attack us with the Basilisk, and that you do _forbidden Dark rituals_ at Halloween with a whole coven of people!” said Colin in a loud excited whisper to Harry.

Harry sighed and sat down again. “I’m not the-”

“-Can I come?!” Colin interrupted.

“What?” said Harry, completely flummoxed.

“To the forbidden Dark ritual? Can I come along? I promise I won’t take photos of anyone there, because I know it’s a _big secret_. Will you be sacrificing a sheep? Can I help? I killed a chicken once. On my grandma’s farm,” Colin grinned excitedly at him as he talked a mile a minute.

Harry blinked. Wasn’t corrupting people to the Dark side supposed to be harder than this? No wonder Lord Voldemort got so many followers.

“Seriously? You want to come along? There’s nothing that Dark, I promise. But some of it is kind of forbidden, I suppose. You’ll have to promise not to gossip about it to anyone.”

Creevey was practically quivering with excitement now. “I promise! Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye!”

Harry found the Muggle saying rather jarring. He’d kind of expected Creevey to swear by Merlin, or promise on his family’s honour. Even with Pansy and Millicent laying low, he was still mixing socially with a lot of pure-bloods, and Hermione was trying to copy a lot of the etiquette lately (not counting the parts she found too sexist, which thankfully were few).

“Alright then, we’re meeting at five o’clock in the club room,” he whispered. “Save a piece of meat or an apple at lunch time, to be your offering for the ritual.”

“Awesome!! This is going to be _great_!”

-000-

It was horrible.

“Get rid of him, Potter,” hissed Lily Moon from Hufflepuff unhappily, as Creevey took a photo of the improvised altar, made of a desk covered with a student’s black silk cloak. “He keeps _touching_ things, and taking photos of everything.”

“And he hasn’t stopped asking stupid questions since he got here,” whined Pansy nasally. “He’s not even in our year. Why did you invite him?” She and all the other third year traditionalists had come along in the end, along with Derrick and Flint who tagged along out of curiosity and an alleged wish to be supportive of Harry.

“He asked to come. It’s not that bad,” mumbled Harry plaintively. “He promised not to take any photos of people. Or gossip about it all. Give him a chance.”

Creevey poked a piece of wine-soaked bread in a dish on the altar. “It’s so super squishy!! Can’t ghosts chew? Do we need to cut up the meat we brought for them? Can I try a piece of squishy bread? Where did you get the wine from?!”

“Alright, let’s get started!” Harry called loudly, and called the gathering to order. The Ravenclaw ghost called the Grey Lady, the Slytherins’ Bloody Baron, and Moaning Myrtle drifted to the side of the crowd along with a couple of other spirits, to observe silently. “We are here to celebrate Samhain-”

“Isn’t it called sam-hayn? Not sa-ween?” Creevey whispered to Theodore Nott, who was standing next to him. Nott ignored him as if he hadn’t heard a word he said. Neville made a shushing gesture at him with his finger to his lips.

“-Traditionally it marks the end of the harvest, and the beginning of winter. It is associated with the element of air, and is a time of strength for spirits,” Harry continued, made a bit more nervous by the interruption and all the attention focused on him.

Creevey waved cheerfully with a big grin to the ghosts to his left, and took a photo of them. Myrtle posed happily for him, but the others looked unimpressed. Draco sneered in his direction.

“Many centuries ago when witches and wizards were an accepted part of their communities and not hunted, Muggles would give offerings to them on this date as they went guising from door to door. And ages before that, we danced around the bonfires together, offered sacrifices in thanks for the bounty of autumn, and made offerings to restless spirits and those loved ones whom had passed from this world for the Summerland.

“I would ask you to join me shortly in focusing on imbuing your magic and thanks into the food on the shrine, so that the ghosts whom have joined us tonight as guests may enjoy the spiritual sustenance of the food. For apart from such times, they can only draw strength from food that has rotted, which is less appetizing for them. Also, as obviously we lack a bonfire indoors, please offer your meat or apples to the fireplace while you spend a moment thinking about those loved ones you’ve lost.

“For those of you with talent in Divination, or who just wish to give it a try, there’s mirrors, candles and incense on the table in the corner for those who wish to try and scry for a message from their departed loved ones. Cornfoot and Parkinson have volunteered to help guide anyone interested in that – they’re both studying Divination.”

Colin raised his hand like he was in class.

“Yes, Creevey?”

“Will there be apple bobbing? Or any animal sacrifices?”

“No. Um. If people could gather round the altar now, that would be good,” Harry said awkwardly.

People shuffled around into a crowded circle, and pointed their hands or wands at the food-laden altar in the centre.

Harry cleared his throat and spoke in his best solemn manner, as everyone focused on sending magical energy into the food. “Blessings be upon you, o wondrous spirits of the dead. We thank you for your presence in our Circle and honour you on this sacred night.”

Well, _almost_ everyone focused. Colin took a photo of the food and goblets on the altar that started to glimmer with a sparkling light. Harry wasn’t the only one whose concentration was broken by the blinding flash of light from the camera.

“That was awesome!” he said happily, as the circle broke up with a few irritated mutters. He peered at his old-fashioned camera and fussed with some levers and dials on it, oblivious to the reaction he was getting.

The ghosts drifted happily through the food and wine on the table, candle flames flickering blue as they passed through them, drinking of the warmth. After partaking of the spiritual sustenance on offer, Moaning Myrtle drifted over to talk to Harry.

“Thank you for inviting me, Harry,” she said coyly. “I’ve never been invited to a party like this before.”

“You’re most welcome Myrtle,” he said politely. “I hope you’re enjoying the food?”

“Oh yes! It’s much better than rotten fish or mouldy bread. That’s what we usually have at the ghost parties. The house-elves are sweet to organise it for us, but this is nicer – you can actually taste the food.” She bobbed a little curtsey while floating, and drifted back to enjoy it some more.

Eloise Midgen and Neville kept a protective eye on Creevey, as a fellow Gryffindor, and Harry mingled with all the guests. When Pansy asked if he was going to try for a message from his parents, he got caught up in a very interesting discussion with Pansy, Nott and Derrick about what circumstances led to the creation of ghosts, as he explained how the Killing Curse didn’t allow ghosts to linger. For a ghost to linger required a slow separation of the soul from the body – a reluctance to let go, and a reattachment of the soul to the place of death or other location very important to it. And the Killing Curse severed the soul from the body instantly.

Nott bemoaned the loss of Ghoul Studies as a subject from the Hogwarts curriculum. “I’d been hoping it might be offered if there was enough demand. Blaise and I asked Professor Snape if it would be offered as an elective if we could get enough students, but apparently there’s no chance – it hasn’t been run for over a decade, and the Headmaster is apparently not persuadable on the topic.”

“I do know the library’s been stripped bare of books on the topic,” volunteered Harry. “I asked Madam Pince about it last year. There’s hardly anything in the library about ghosts at all.”

“By the way Harry, about Creevey…” Pansy started tentatively.

Harry winced. “Yeah, I know. He’s just enthusiastic. But you know, he’s Muggle-born, so he doesn’t have a good grasp of wizarding etiquette. Someone’s taught him how to bow properly. He’s trying!”

“Look, I’ll talk to the second year organisers for you. They can get someone to vet him, and then they can decide whether to invite him into their circle or not. Alright?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed, to their mutual relief.

Later that evening, the delicious Hogwarts feast was enjoyed by all, even Neville and Hermione who’d stuffed themselves with sweets earlier that day at Hogsmeade. Harry liked the candle-filled jack o’lanterns, and didn’t mind the bats. But he thought the orange streamers were a bit tacky. Harry was pleased the day had passed without incident – but he relaxed too soon.

On the way back to the Gryffindor dorm, the corridor which ended with the portrait of the Fat Lady was jammed with students. Percy as Head Boy quickly summoned Dumbledore to the scene – the portrait had been slashed to pieces by Sirius Black.

The students were all herded back towards the Great Hall, with most chattering excitedly as they went. Harry noticed that Hermione had her wand out and was looking around with fierce determination as they filed down the corridors, so he nudged Neville and they both pushed through the crowd to join her, also keeping watch with drawn wands.

She smiled gratefully at their supportive company. “We haven’t had much luck with Halloween, have we?”

Empty suits of armour turned to watch them all as they went past, animated and on alert. Portraits flitted to and fro, gathering gossip from the students about what was going on in the castle and checking if anyone had seen Sirius Black go past.

“No sign of him yet,” Harry said to one curious portrait. “But… they haven’t said anyone’s been hurt, so that’s good news. If we all bunker down, maybe they’ll catch Black. That would be a great end to the night, don’t you think?”

Hermione perked up at that suggestion. “You’re right! He can’t have gotten far, with the Anti-Disapparition ward around Hogwarts, and Dementors on alert outside. It’s a great opportunity to apprehend him, when you think about it.”

Shutters slammed shut on all the windows, and gargoyles watched all passers-by intently. Harry wondered if Custos woke from her sleep automatically – would she know Sirius Black was after him, if the castle was on high alert? Was there a special thing you needed to do to wake her? It reminded him of something important.

“Storm’s still in the dorm,” he worried.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” comforted Hermione. “Black didn’t even get in there.”

“What if he gets scared when I don’t come back? What if Black sneaks in the dorm and attacks him because it’ll hurt me?”

“Don’t panic, Harry,” said Neville. “Black’s got no reason to go after a pet snake. He probably wouldn’t even know you have one, or which bed is yours.”

Harry calmed a little. “That’s true. Do you think everyone’s alright? They would’ve said if someone had been attacked, right? Do you think they’d keep it a secret?”

The Gryffindor students were joined by those from the other Houses in the Great Hall, “The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle,” Professor Dumbledore told them, as the hall was readied to be sealed. Percy and the Head Girl were announced as being left in charge, which was all well and good, so long as no-one blasted the doors open in a search for vengeance on Harry.

“What about the Aurors? Why aren’t they calling the Aurors?” Harry demanded of his friends, but they had no more answer to that question than he did. “Why are the _teachers_ searching for Sirius Black? What are Professor Sprout or Professor Trelawney going to do if they come face to face with a murderer?! Throw a plant at him? Tell him his horoscope for the day?”

Neville defended the effectiveness of magical plants for dealing with trespassers on a property, but conceded they wouldn’t be terribly useful for helping his favourite professor win a duel in a Hogwarts corridor.

Hundreds of purple sleeping bags were provided by the Headmaster. How did he do that? But more importantly, Harry wanted to know if more help was on the way. And he hoped they’d already checked the Great Hall carefully. He clutched his wand tightly as he pushed through the crowd towards the teachers. But they’d exited the hall and closed the door behind them as they left, leaving the students entirely alone.

Percy shouted for lights out as Harry approached. “Everyone into their sleeping bags! Come on now, no more talking! Lights out in ten minutes!”

“Percy, Percy!” Harry called, getting his attention. “Percy, do you know if someone’s called the Aurors over the Floo?” Harry asked. “Is more help on the way? Because the castle is enormous, and that’s not a lot of people looking for him. And what if he attacks the teachers? Not everyone is going to be able to defend themselves against a murderer. And did they check the Great Hall before they left?”

“I’m sure Professor Dumbledore knows what he’s doing,” reassured Percy. “He’s obviously not in the Hall, and they’ll deal with him if they find him.”

“But shouldn’t the Aurors be called? Isn’t that the protocol if there’s a _murderer_ loose in Hogwarts? Wouldn’t more skilled wands be better? This is the best chance yet to catch him!”

Percy frowned thoughtfully, and nodded in agreement. “I’ll send a message with a ghost to make sure they didn’t forget to alert the Ministry in all the panic.”

“I will go,” said the silvery form of the Bloody Baron, with a courteous nod to Harry and Percy, “I will ensure word is sent if this task has been neglected.” He drifted off straight through the closed oaken doors.

“Thank you,” said Harry gratefully to Percy.

Most students snuggled down into their sleeping bags right away. But some were too scared, paranoid, or too innocently excited by the drama of it all.

“It might be a long night,” Harry said to his friends. “I’m staying up, but you can sleep if you want to.”

“We could sleep in shifts,” suggested Hermione.

“Percy’s a good guy, but if Sirius Black breaks down that door? I’m not sure he’ll be enough, you know? They should’ve left some teachers here,” worried Harry. “I like your idea, Hermione.”

“If we each take a four hour watch, we can look out for each other. Just in case,” Hermione said.

“Count me in too,” said Ron Weasley, struggling out of his sleeping bag.

“Weasley.”

“Potter,” he replied, with a stubborn look on his face. “I want to help guard, too.”

“This won’t make us friends.”

“Maybe not, but Neville and I are still friends, and if Sirius Black _does_ break through those doors, or blast open a window, I want to help protect everyone.”

“Sounds like fun,” said Dean Thomas, sitting up. “Count me in too. Gryffindors on guard!” he said, rather loudly.

There was an increased murmur of interest as the gossip spread – Harry Potter was forming a guard in case Sirius Black showed up. A lot of people volunteered to help, especially amongst the older students. Harry embarrassedly delegated the job of organising people to Hermione, who started dividing everyone up into three watches, until Percy showed up.

“What’s going on? There’s a lot of noise over here, you’re supposed to be settling to sleep,” he said sternly.

“Potter Watch!”

“We’re going to help guard the Great Hall, in case Sirius Black breaks in!”

“No Firsties!”

“Gryffindor stands ready!!” someone yelled excitedly.

In the end, Percy caved to peer pressure and the judicious application of logical arguments from Harry and Hermione.

“Alright!” he shouted. “Settle down! Quiet!” The hubbub of excited voices subsided. “If you want to help stand guard against the possibility of Sirius Black making his way here, move over to the main doors! We will have four shifts of three hours each through the night, or until the teachers return! Third years and up _only_! Everyone else, settle down to sleep!”

A large number of Gryffindors convened at the carved oaken doors, and were joined by a smattering of students from the other three houses. From his year Harry recognised all the Gryffindor boys, Hermione, Parvati Patil, and Eloise Midgen. Draco, Crabbe, Gregory, and Theodore Nott were there from Slytherin, and from Ravenclaw there was Parvati’s sister Padma Patil, and Anthony Goldstein who sat next to him in Ancient Runes. He’d brought along his friends Terry Boot and Michael Corner, whom Harry vaguely recognised. Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Susan Bones represented Hufflepuff.

There were a few Gryffindors murmuring about the untrustworthiness of Slytherins and Death Eater’s children in particular, but Harry scoffed at that openly.

“ _Please_. Sirius Black, _former Gryffindor_ I might add, is a madman who doesn’t care whom he kills. When he killed Peter Pettigrew, twelve other people died just because they were _standing too close_. Even _if_ they sympathised with the Dark Lord, Slytherins are just as inclined as the rest of us to not want to be murdered in their sleep by a loony.”

“Well if Harry doesn’t mind them guarding him that’s good enough for me,” said Fred Weasley. Or possibly George.

That led to a little announcement from Percy about how some in the Ministry thought Sirius Black might be after Harry in particular. He asked for four volunteers each watch to keep a special eye on Harry.

“Hey!” said Harry, a bit put out. “I don’t need a special guard, I just thought it would be good if some of us stayed awake to help out – so you weren’t on your own if Black shows up. I can look after myself.”

He was ignored, and scowled as people argued over who would get to guard him first. Percy wanted only senior students, rather to the dismay of Harry’s friends who’d been looking forward to the job.

“Derrick from Slytherin, and Wood from Gryffindor for the first watch,” suggested Harry, who just wanted it over with now. “And pick someone from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, to make it fair across the Houses.”

The Hufflepuffs went into a little huddle and recommended a Seventh Year girl for first watch, and the Fifth Year Cedric Diggory for the second watch, while they continued pondering candidates for the last two watches.

“He may not be a senior student like the others,” said Ernie to Harry, “but he’s rather renowned for his Duelling skills, and top of his year for Defence Against the Dark Arts. He tutors the younger Badgers if we need help.”

The Ravenclaws took a logical approach to the matter, and simply nominated the most senior students with the highest grades in Defence.

“And we’ll separate ourselves into four even groups of a mix of different skill levels for the general guard to stand with Weasley and I guarding the hall in general,” announced the Head Girl, Penelope Clearwater from Ravenclaw. “I’d advise the other Houses do similarly. Then the House prefects, or most senior student present, can nominate which watch you’ll be on, and the other three groups can settle down to sleep until it’s their turn.”

Percy smiled proudly at her, and there was a murmur of approval for her approach. The “Great Hall Guards” were assigned into four groups of about a dozen students with a mix of all the Houses.

Gemma Farley was the Seventh Year Slytherin student assigned the second watch, which made Harry blush in embarrassment as he remembered her family’s proposal of a betrothal contract last Valentine’s Day. She was short, and had blue eyes and long dark brown hair, and Harry guessed she was kind of pretty. But it was all too uncomfortable for words, and he barely looked at her as he mumbled a very shy hello, and seized the opportunity to head off as quickly as he could. The four students in the first “Potter Watch” herded Harry and his two friends to relocate their sleeping bags to a more defensible edge of the Great Hall next to some dining tables, rather than right in the middle of the sleeping students.

“Thank you for asking for me, Potter,” Derrick said appreciatively as they picked their way around the sleeping students and the furniture piled up near the walls.

“Not a problem. I know you’re good with a Shield Charm, and well, I know you.”

“By the way Harry, thanks so very, _very_ much for talking to the Appleby team about having Williams come to Hogwarts to scout!” said Oliver Wood. “Fantastic stuff! Mind you, I’ve got my eye on Puddlemere United and the Montrose Magpies, but you never know! I really appreciate that even though you’re not on the team anymore, you’re still a great supporter. And you know you’d be welcome back any time.” He shook Harry’s hand firmly in enthusiastic thanks.

Derrick just smiled smugly, rather than pick a fight about it. He knew it was _really_ all due to the Slytherins’ influence with Potter.

Neville and Ron were assigned to the second watch, and Harry and Hermione were in the first watch, since they insisted they wouldn’t be able to get to sleep anyway. Hermione got to join Percy in guarding the main door, while some others guarded other exits, but Harry was instructed to stay put, which he couldn’t decide if he was angry about or not. He _was_ quite a capable duellist.

An hour into the first shift, a teacher came to check on the students – Professor Sprout was very startled to be met by a dozen warily drawn wands pointed straight at her when she opened the door.

“Stars above! I was just popping in to check that everything was alright!” she said to Percy, and Penelope Clearwater. “What’s going on here?”

Percy explained about the volunteer guard, and she praised the Head Boy and Girl with a beaming smile. “What a good idea, and all the Houses working together – superb co-operation of students working for the common good, that’s just what I love to see! Twenty points each for each of the Houses, for diligence and community spirit!” She awarded a rash of extra points – two for every student who’d volunteered.

“Harry Potter thought of it first,” Percy said modestly. So Harry was awarded five extra points for Gryffindor, and Percy got two extra points for honesty.

Harry was too far away to hear their interaction, with an over-protective guard who’d moved in front of him the instant the doors opened, but Hermione popped back to let him know what they’d said.

“There will be a teacher checking in every hour,” she reported, “and apparently some Aurors are on their way. This is what they _should_ have done when there was a troll on the loose, don’t you think? And a headcount. Did you notice that no-one did a headcount, to check if anyone was missing? I think we should have emergency drills, like they have in Muggle schools. I’m going to recommend it to Professor McGonagall.”

Harry was asleep by the time a pair of Aurors arrived to guard the students in the Great Hall while others scoured Hogwarts for any sign of Black.

Most of the students in the volunteer “Great Hall Guard” and “Potter Watch” were too excited by the chance to have their turn at feeling important to want to cancel their participation, even with Aurors present, so the students continued to keep watch throughout the night.

In the morning, and even for the next few days, the school talked of nothing else but Sirius Black. Hogwarts was pronounced safe as Sirius was presumed to have fled the grounds promptly and no sign could be found of him anywhere, and the portrait of the Fat Lady was replaced with the knight Sir Cadogan, who kept changing the Gryffindor password twice a day to something ridiculously complicated.

There was still an unofficial Potter Watch, with Percy trailing after Harry everywhere like a pompous guard dog, a few other students keeping a wary watch near him as he moved through the corridors, and some of his teachers finding excuses to walk him from class to class. It lasted a couple of weeks before the heightened worry seemed to abate, and he got his privacy back.

Harry had preferred Snape’s approach the most.

“I’ll be escorting you to your next class, Potter,” he said one day at the end of Potions.

“You’re not ‘just happening’ to be going in that direction? You don’t need to pick something up from Professor Lupin’s room?” asked Harry with a tinge of mocking sarcasm.

Snape snorted. “Prevarication is useless when the subject being trailed is aware of one’s actions. In such cases, a forthright approach of some kind builds more trust and less suspicion.”

“Honesty is the best approach?”

“In such situations as this one, yes. Do note that if Sirius Black shows up, you are to leave him to _me_ to deal with, and you are to concentrate solely on defensive spells. Do _not_ get in my way, for I shall be using deadly force if necessary.” He paused a moment and added in a soft voice, “Or even if it’s merely plausibly necessary.”

“I’m sure in such a case I would be able to report that I observed him just about to cast a deadly spell at one of us, Professor,” Harry said, very quietly to him.

Snape nodded in respect for his cunning and support for vengeance, and smiled a thin smile of approval. “Keep in mind minors have the right to refuse administration of Veritaserum, Potter.”

It was good to know. He wished he’d known it when arguing with Lockhart. Too late now – “Battles with the Basilisk!” was approved for final editing and subsequent publication, and should be in bookstores early next year, according to Lockhart’s optimistic assessment. Lockhart wrote to complain about how picky his editor was being about the finer details, and reminded Harry about his promise to show up for a book signing “or two”. He also wrote another letter solely to complain about the Gringotts’ goblins and their mercenary contracts. Harry had promised Lockhart he would do what he could to help get them off his back, and had then written a special letter to Griphook calling him a vicious tempered bulldog with his teeth worrying at Lockhart’s purse, and to keep it up if it wasn’t too hard for him. The abusive letter he’d gotten back in return suggested Griphook would indeed gouge Lockhart for every knut he could… for only a small additional fee (which Harry promised he would pay half of, and only the full amount for exceptional performance).

Harry had started carrying Dudley’s knife around everywhere, which he hadn’t done since he’d first come back to Hogwarts, but suspected his spellcasting was suffering a little. Storm was insisting on being taken to every dinner, in case he got left behind again overnight. But he didn’t want to be in the pocket with the knife in it.

“ _I don’t like it. It’s cold_ ,” he complained. Harry held the folded knife in his hands for a while until it warmed up a bit.

“How about now?” he asked.

“ _No. Ssstill nasty and cold,_ ” he insisted. “ _Keep it away from me._ ”

Harry wasn’t sure if having a small steel knife in his pocket was actually affecting his spellcasting prowess, or if he was imagining it. Being tired from non-stop studying could be causing problems too – he was trying to cram in extra practice in advanced Charms suitable for duelling in every spare minute he could get to himself. Harry decided to line both his pockets with silk, and asked Draco if he had some old silk cravats he didn’t want anymore (he did). With a match transfigured into a sewing needle, he did a rough but serviceable job of lining both of them. And then had to rip one of the linings out again – Storm didn’t like it.

“ _I can’t sssmell-taste properly in there_ ,” complained Storm. “ _And it’s cold._ ” So Storm got the right hand robe pocket, shared with his wand, and the knife went into the silk-lined pocket on the left.

Harry, feeling the pressure of Black’s infiltration of the castle, and nagged on a daily basis by one or more students, finally started up his DADA club. “Potter Watch” would run “duelling study and practice sessions” on the second and fourth Sundays of each month for Third Year students and up, for an hour after breakfast. There was a buzz of excitement about it, and a lot of students put their names down on the sign-up sheet he’d put on the club room noticeboard. (After a clash between meetings of the Frog Choir and the Gobstones Club, the Ravenclaws had insisted the room have a noticeboard, and a calendar of scheduled activities. They really did like things organised.)

When a dozen people had put their names down already, Pansy and Millicent felt safe enough to add theirs as well.

“Not because we especially want to confront Sirius Black in a duel, or act as bodyguards,” Pansy explained in whispers during Care of Magical Creatures while they fed woodlice to a Bowtruckle, “but because it will give us an opportunity to see you again socially. It would be an advantageous opportunity to continue maintaining our most amicable acquaintance.”

Harry smothered his giggles, which led to some unattractive muffled snorting on his part. “I’ve missed you too, Pansy.”

She huffed at him and crossed her arms, but Harry knew from her small smile that she wasn’t actually cross at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Worrorra, Ngarinyin and Woonambal people trace their ancestry back to the Wandjina spirit ancestors. Wandjina are only found in the stories of the Kimberley region of Australia – though other groups have stories of ancestor spirits of some kind. A very large number of Aboriginal tribes tell stories of the Rainbow Serpent as a primary creator of the land, and it always seems to be associated with watercourses in some way (such as rivers and billabongs).
> 
> Thanks to LeGC and T for the inspiration to have a Muggle-born observer along at one of the Traditionalists’ ritual celebrations. I didn’t want the lynching I’d get from having Hermione attend and stuff up this badly (she really does know better now, anyway), so Colin is the poor sod who got the job. ;)
> 
> I cannot find which actress (if any) played Gemma Farley in the Harry Potter movies, so in this fic canon she looks like Amy Puglia, who played an older female Slytherin student. (I thought I’d let you know in case you wanted to look her up.) 
> 
> Sorry this chapter is up a little late today. It's been a tough week for the family. Lots of reviews would help make this week a little better. ;)


	12. It's Not the Defence Association

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Professor Lupin isn’t appreciative of Snape’s assigned DADA homework, the Quidditch match is more dramatic than anyone wanted, and Harry obtains some help for the first Potter Watch meeting.

**_November, 1993_ **

Only a couple of days before the much-anticipated Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match, Draco finally took the bandages off his arm, and swore to Flint that he was good to play, and didn’t need Harper from the Reserve team to substitute for him. He wasn’t missing his chance to play, but was a bit nervous about Flint’s threats that his arm _definitely_ wouldn’t be healing in a hurry if he failed to catch the Snitch for Slytherin. In Potions on Friday morning Weasley was relieved to finally be excused from working with Draco and cutting up all his ingredients for him.

It wasn’t the last time they saw Snape that day, however, for that afternoon as the Gryffindors filed into Defence Against the Dark Arts, they saw Professor Snape standing at the front of the classroom instead of Professor Lupin.

Harry sat down and raised his hand politely.

“Yes, Potter?”

“Excuse me, but I was wondering what’s happened to Professor Lupin?”

“He is unwell today and unable or unwilling to attend to his duties. It is nothing life-threatening,” he added, looking as though he rather wished it was.

Snape explained how Lupin had left no notes of what he was covering, and shot down Hermione when she interrupted to volunteer information about what they’d covered so far.

Snape flicked through the textbook to a chapter near the end. “Today we shall discuss… werewolves,” he stated.

“But, sir,” said Hermione, seemingly unable to restrain herself, “we’re not supposed to do werewolves yet, we’re due to start Hinkypunks-”

“-Miss Granger,” said Snape, in a voice of deadly calm, “I was under the impression that I was taking this lesson, not you. It is shameful that despite years at this school you have yet to grasp the simplest of social graces despite the examples of your betters, but do at least make an effort to _try_ to ape the good manners of those more genteel than you. Now, all of you, turn to page three hundred and ninety-four.”

With some sullen muttering the class opened their books, and the lesson proceeded very uncomfortably, with Snape unimpressed with the class’ ignorance on the subject of werewolves. Despite Harry’s hissed warning to put her hand up next time Hermione continued to get on Snape’s bad side, again speaking out of turn by launching into an explanation of werewolf traits without being called upon.

 _At least she put her hand up first_ , Harry thought resignedly. Though he then got rather angry at Professor Snape as he called her an “insufferable know-it-all” for speaking out of turn a second time. _Must_ he be so cruelly rude? Hermione was crying quietly now. He wasn’t the only one in the class glaring angrily at Snape for that.

Ronald Weasley, of all people, got detention for standing up to Snape and telling him off for picking on Hermione.

Professor Snape assigned a two foot essay on the ways to recognise and kill werewolves, that Harry would need to reshuffle his weekend study schedule to accommodate since he had only given them until Monday to complete it.

Hermione seemed well recovered well from her quiet crying bout by the time class let out, and chattered to her friends about the class. “It was very kind of Ron to stand up for me, don’t you think? I said thank you to him. You know, he usually doesn’t talk to me much anymore unless he’s in a hurry with an assignment due that day. Since he realised that I might _advise_ but I’m _not_ doing his work for him no matter how he begs, I don’t see him a lot at all – not as much as Neville does, I think. But I guess we’re still friends after all. He _does_ chat politely sometimes. We played a game of chess together last month.”

“Snape was _horrible_ to you. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” said Neville guiltily.

“He was really mean. I wish he wouldn’t scold people like that all the time. Of course you shouldn’t have interrupted him like that. You know what he’s like,” said Harry.

Hermione spun on him in disbelief. “Are you saying _I had it coming_? Harry!”

“I’m not saying he was right in what he said! You’re not a know-it-all! You were just trying to answer his questions, and he was really rude about it. But you really shouldn’t provoke someone when you _know_ what they’re like. That’s all I’m saying. You know he can’t tolerate disrespect in class, and likes to put people down and take points. So you should keep your head down more, always raise your hand before speaking but not try to answer _every_ question, and think more about what will make him happy, like speaking extra politely to him and showing respect for his authority.”

“You should always raise your hand if you know the answer!” insisted Hermione. “If the teacher doesn’t want people to answer, they won’t ask questions in the first place. How else will they know if you have learnt the material? If you know the answer, you put your hand up – that’s classroom etiquette. That’s the rule. Also, he wasn’t sticking to the teaching schedule. You _have_ to stick to the schedule – he was teaching the wrong lesson! Didn’t that drive you mad too? And Harry, you should never pander to a bully.”

They argued about it all the way to Care of Magical Creatures, for neither of them was convinced of the other’s point of view. Hermione was still huffy with him for blaming her for Snape’s actions, and grabbed Neville to work with her in class. Which left Harry to pair up with Draco, which he didn’t really mind except that he was upset that Hermione was still angry with him. He was trying to _help_. Why couldn’t she just do things his way? It was the best way, after all. When someone was unpleasant, if you couldn’t avoid them you simply had to adapt and learn to work around them – placate them so life was easier for everyone. To do otherwise could have unpleasant consequences. And sometimes things changed – like how Professor Snape had changed his mind about preferring Harry getting Ds, and wanted Os instead. You had to keep watching people for signs of what behaviours they wanted, all the time, because it could be dangerous to miss a sudden change in mood.

Thinking of which, he had a new theory about his Defence professor to research, following today’s lesson. It should tie in nicely with his homework, so shouldn’t take too much extra time.

-000-

Saturday was a miserable grey day for Quidditch, just like the rest of the week had been. At breakfast, Oliver Wood plonked himself down next to Harry and asked him if the Appleby Arrows’ manager was definitely still coming, with all the rain.

“Oh yes, he said he wouldn’t miss it for the world. He’ll be going straight up to the teachers’ stand, but might stop by after the match to chat to all the players,” reassured Harry. But Wood looked _more_ worried, if anything.

“I told him to keep an eye out for you and the Weasleys in particular,” said Harry, leaving out the players on the Slytherin side he’d _also_ recommended watching, like Flint, Derrick, and Draco. “I said that you’re all awesome Quidditch players of course,” encouraged Harry.

Wood made an odd gulping noise. “Thanks Potter,” said Wood, not sounding very thankful at all, and not eating a bite of breakfast. He just kind of sat there silently for a while. Harry wasn’t offended – the older boy was very obviously just a ball of nerves.

Alicia Spinnet, one of the team’s Chasers, tried to coax Wood into a better humour, reminding him of the hours and _hours_ they’d put into their drills. “We’ll beat them for sure! Try some of your porridge.” Wood stirred his brown mush dispiritedly with a spoon.

A couple of hours later, Harry was glad to be sitting in the stands under a Water-Repelling Charm, and not out there like Draco trying to find the tiny, elusive Snitch in a bitterly cold thunderstorm, with wind so strong it knocked you sideways just while _walking_.

It was almost impossible to see the players at all in the driving rain, and the clouds got so thick and dark it seemed almost as if night had decided to come early.

“There’s _lightning_ ,” worried Hermione. “Don’t wizards understand how _dangerous_ it is to be up there flying about when there’s _lightning_?”

“I think they ward the pitch against that?” suggested Neville hesitantly.

Harry squinted through the rain to wave in the direction of the teachers’ stand, where he _thought_ he could see a figure in blue waving in his direction.

“You can’t even _see_ half the players! What ridiculous conditions to hold a game in,” she complained. “They should simply have rescheduled.” From what glimpses they could catch, play was furious up there, each team driven to win at all costs.

About an hour into the match the cold took on an extra bite, and there were shrieks of pure terror from all directions as at least a hundred Dementors suddenly flooded onto the Quidditch pitch like a wave of living darkness. The ear-piercing cries of terrified students were deafening. Some Dementors milled around the centre of the pitch, while others headed for the Reserve players, and other clusters of them floated ominously towards the stands. It was the most horrifying heart-stopping moment of Harry’s life to date – he was sure they were all going to have their souls devoured by the hungry swarm. But if so, he was determined that he wasn’t going to go easily.

Harry fumbled with icy fingers for the wand in his pocket. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” he cried, in imitation of some of the teachers, but the thin wisps of silvery vapour he produced weren’t very threatening to the Dementors when compared to the silver wolf, phoenix, cat, deer, and other animal guardians the teachers managed to summon.

“Shield spells and the Patronus Charm if you know them!” he yelled desperately to everyone in earshot around him. He heard Percy’s bossy voice telling first and second years to move to the back of the stand or to lie down, and for those brave enough to cast spells to move to the front.

He tried frantically to think of a better memory to power his Charm than thoughts of last Christmas, and mentally promised his Genius a _big_ offering if it would _please_ show up. He focused on knowing that Potter Cottage was _all his_ , and the happy elf he’d freed who fussed over him there every time he was sad. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

The silver mist was bigger, with a swirl to it, but still stubbornly refused to coalesce into an animal shape. The Dementors hesitated briefly around the base of the stand, but they hadn’t backed off. People were screaming and crying, and some were knocking others over in their scramble to get away. A good handful of Gryffindors stayed put though, casting Shield Charms, or shooting fire and bludgeoning hexes at the Dementors.

Harry tried thinking about Quirrell’s support and praise of him, but it was all tainted now. He thought instead about Storm, who loved him unconditionally, and about all his friends. Hermione and Neville were standing with him against possible horrible doom even now, flanking him loyally despite no doubt being as terrified as he was.  
  
“ _Expecto Patronum_!” Harry got another blob of silver mist again and it drove back the Dementors for a moment – thank Merlin they weren’t trying to administer the Kiss to anyone, just moving into the crowd. But it still wasn’t enough to drive them off altogether – it just encouraged them to edge to another part of the Gryffindor stands.

“ _Ex… pecto Pa…_ ” The screaming started inside his head again, as the cold rose in his chest, freezing his insides, and the warmth and joy drained away from him to be replaced with bleak despair and terror as more Dementors swirled around the stands hungrily. They seems to be floating around the base of the Gryffindor stand more than any of the other Houses’ stands, and the teachers’ Patroni were moving quickly in their direction.

A high-pitched woman’s voice pleaded inside his mind, “ _Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!_ ”

“ _Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside now…_ ”

“ _Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-_ ”

Harry went numb, feeling like he was falling through mist. He couldn’t feel anything except the cold, and emptiness. He crumpled bonelessly to the ground.

-000-

Harry wasn’t the only one to end up in the hospital wing due to Dementor exposure, though he was one of only a few who fainted due to it. He didn’t mind being in a minority in this case, however, he was extremely relieved just to wake up at all in the first place, alive and still in possession of his soul.

Hermione, Tracey and Draco were waiting worriedly near his bed when he woke up. “Hi guys,” he said tiredly, and looked around with increasing worry.

“Harry!”

“Where’s Neville? Is Neville okay? He was right next to us in the stands!”

Neville’s voice piped up from a couple of beds along. “Over here, Harry.”

“Oh thank goodness,” he said. “What about everyone else? Pansy? Millicent? Everyone?”

“Everyone’s fine, Harry,” reassured Hermione.

“No serious injuries,” agreed Draco. “Though a Gryffindor Chaser’s broom got broken when she fell off it when those Dementors went berserk. My father will be hearing about this! We could have all been killed!”

“Kissed,” corrected Hermione. “Technically alive. And Spinnet broke her leg, which I think counts as a serious injury. There have also been a number of sprains and bruises from the crush of the crowd, and a couple of people with fractures. Madam Pomfrey’s been kept very busy.”

Draco huffed in frustration. “ _Must_ you quibble about technicalities again? This is hardly the time for it!”

Hermione hesitated a moment, before apologising. “Sorry, Draco. I know you were scared.”

“I was _not_ scared,” he said defensively.

Tracey leapt in loyally to support her fellow Slytherin. “He was _fine_. He even caught the Golden Snitch.”

“After Spinnet fell.”

“I didn’t even see that! I was busy! And it’s not like what the Chasers do really impacts on the Seekers significantly in any case. A win is a win, and Slytherin won,” he said smugly.

“What happened with the Dementors?” asked Harry.

Neville wiggled his way out from under the stiff starched sheets of his own bed to sit on the foot of Harry’s. He passed him a chocolate frog, which Harry took with thanks.

Hermione and the Slytherins explained how Dumbledore and the other teachers had eventually driven them off, which made Harry sigh at his own inability to cast a Patronus.

“My spell just didn’t work well enough,” he complained. “I’m just no good at it. I was practically useless, and I tried so hard…”

“I don’t even know what spell you were trying to cast with that mist,” admitted Hermione, which Harry knew must be nagging at her. “Is it an anti-Dementor spell? What year are we supposed to learn that in?”

Harry hesitated for a moment before opting to go for the truth. It’s not like she wouldn’t be researching it later anyway. “It’s supposed to bring forth a silvery animal spirit like the teachers did, not mist. The Patronus Charm is NEWT level, though not on the current exam, as it’s rather advanced.”

Hermione smacked him on the head, ruffling his hair. “Ow!” Harry complained at the stinging slap, raising his arms protectively in case she tried again. “What was that for?!”

“Don’t you _dare_ try and put yourself down for not having mastered NEWT level charms yet, Harold James Potter!” she said angrily, eyes blazing.

“Okay, okay, geez…” Harry rubbed at his head, watching her warily.

“Derrick thinks you’re a Seer now, because you told him you thought Dementors might attack the school,” said Draco.

Tracey nodded. “The Snake’s Den is all abuzz with the gossip.”

Harry shrugged. “I told him the first time – I’m not a Seer, it’s not magical insight. It’s just logic. They have to be hungry, with no-one to feed on. And that’s the absolute truth, I swear. Any idiot could see they would be a problem sooner or later. I read up on Azkaban – horrible place – they get to feed on the prisoners’ emotions there _all the time_.”

Hermione, Harry and Tracey had a rousing (if somewhat depressing) discussion as to whether that counted as torture or not, and how it compared to Muggle prisons, while the pure-bloods jumped in where they could. They all agreed in the end that it was a kind of torture, though they were also all a bit concerned about what Dementors would eat if they _didn’t_ have an island full of criminals to feed off.

“It’s not like the Ministry would want to make sacrifices to them now, would they?” mused Harry.

“What do you think the prisoners are, then?” said Draco, raising one thin eyebrow with a meaningful look.

“They surely wouldn’t do something so Dark on purpose!” said Hermione, aghast.

Tracey nodded. “It’s more practicality, I think – managing the creatures so they don’t rampage. And it’s not like they let anyone there be _permanently_ injured.”

Draco looked unconvinced, “The prisoners there suffer a lot though still, didn’t we all agree on that?”

Neville piped up snidely from the next bed, “I guess _you’d_ know. Do you visit her?”

Draco looked uncomfortable and avoided looking at or answering Neville, and with a warning glance at Tracey, changed the topic.

Madam Pomfrey kept Harry and Neville overnight since they’d both fainted during the attack. Hermione was dispatched to fetch a pile of books so Harry could work on his assignments, and also to retrieve Storm (whom Harry insisted would worry if he didn’t return).

The hospital wing had a stream of visitors that afternoon, all intent on cheering him up or thanking him (and occasionally also Neville) for trying to protect the other students from the Dementors. Jacob Williams stopped by to tell him that it was the most terrifying Quidditch match he’d ever been to, and he hoped he could see another one some time. Hopefully with less Dementors.

“I must say I was very impressed with some of the flyers who kept going with the match even with Dementors milling below them! That’s real dedication to Quidditch! That’s focus! Dreadfully dangerous of course, but by Merlin, the commitment to the team!”

 Even Pansy and Millicent visited covertly as evening fell and the flood of visitors dropped to nothing, sneaking in just before Madam Pomfrey’s curfew to whisper their best wishes for a swift recovery, and to drop off a little gift of some chocolate frogs.

“Get well soon, Harry,” whispered Pansy. “You’re my favourite cousin.”

“You’re mine too,” said Harry, with a smile.

Professor McGonagall visited early the next morning to praise Neville and Harry for being “true Gryffindors”, awarding them a total of twenty points for trying to protect their fellow students against the Dementors.

“I didn’t do much,” said Neville embarrassedly. “I cast Incendio, but it didn’t seem to do more than make them a bit angry.”

“Nonsense! Every student who stood firm is getting ten points, and you are in that august group. You did a great thing - you stood strong and tall in the face of danger. Your actions yesterday would have made both your parents proud.”

Neville sat up a little straighter, with a proud smile. “I’m going to write to Gran.”

-000-

On Monday in DADA Harry was disappointed to find that the hours he’d invested on the weekend writing Snape’s werewolf essay were utterly wasted. From the point of view of his grade, anyway.

“You’re not going to mark it?” he asked Professor Lupin disappointedly. “I spent three and a half hours researching and writing it!”

He really liked his section speculating on werewolf disease transmission via blood and saliva, and whether it was a genetic level change or if there might instead be a viral or bacterial infection in the blood that might be revealed by studying samples with a microscope.

He was also especially proud about how he’d theorized about the effects involved in passing on lycanthropy. Bites were the most common method, but there was occasional transmission of the werewolf curse (or disease) when fathering a child. There were no werewolf mothers who had human or werewolf children, however, as it invariably had fatal results for the unborn child and the mother after it had developed enough to become a danger when transforming at the full moon. There were no cases on record he could find, however, of a werewolf mother drinking Wolfsbane Potion every full moon in an attempt to carry a child to term – Harry hypothesized that the potion may have a calming effect on an unborn werewolf too, though it could have unpredictable and possibly dangerous side effects. He’d been hoping for an “Outstanding” on his essay for all his research and original ideas.

Hermione chimed in as well. “I’ve already written mine too!”

“No, it wasn’t on my lesson plan; we’re not studying werewolves,” Lupin explained, looking tired and drained. Ron and a few others seemed happy to hear that – some of them hadn’t even _started_ the essay.

“So is that the general rule – that if a substitute teacher gives us homework that deviates from the lesson plan we never have to do it?” Harry asked. At the back of the class, Ron and Seamus gave each other a cheerful high five. Professor Lupin looked hesitant at that suggestion.

“Not on this occasion, but I’ll ensure that Professor Snape or whomever is filling in for me in the future is more clearly updated about where we’re up to in class. So they can set appropriate homework that you _will_ need to do.”

Hmph. He probably just didn’t want people learning enough about werewolves that they’d start to realise that _he_ was a werewolf. Harry had discussed his theory with Hermione and Neville yesterday, and Hermione said she was also pretty sure Professor Lupin had lycanthropy. They’d all agreed to never be alone with him, especially around the full moon.

Lupin asked Harry to stay behind after that class, and Hermione and Neville waited with him, the two insisting that they may as well since they always walked to classes together.

“Harry,” he started, while piling books from his desk into a briefcase, “I heard about the match. I just wanted to check if you were alright now.”

“Yes sir, Neville and I are fine, thanks for asking,” Harry said pointedly. “We all are.”

“Ah yes, my apologies Neville. I hadn’t heard you were also badly affected, but I’m not surprised to hear it. You too would have horrors in your past that many other students won’t have. It’s why the Dementors affected you both so badly.”

“I’m not just weaker?” asked Neville.

“No, not at all. Dementors drain all the peace, hope and happiness out of the air around them. Even Muggles can often feel their presence, though they can’t see them. The worst that has happened to you in your life, or to Harry here, is enough to make anyone faint. You have nothing to feel ashamed of.”

Neville’s eyes looked bleak. “When they got near me, I heard my parents screaming. Then pleading that they didn’t know anything. Then just screaming again. Over and over.”

Harry gave him an empathetic look. “I heard my mum screaming too, and pleading with the Dark Lord for my life.” Lupin looked rather shaken by their revelations.

“Could you teach us how to cast that animal charm properly? The Patronus spell?” asked Neville fiercely. But Professor Lupin demurred, saying it was extremely difficult and he was very busy, and perhaps next term.

Since they were there anyway, Harry decided to ask him about something he’d run into trouble researching for his last essay. “Sir, about the essays… I was wondering if you’re familiar with the Homorphus spell? Can it really cure werewolves?”

“Ah, Lockhart’s infamous ‘Wagga Wagga Werewolf’. No, unfortunately despite his claim there is no cure for lycanthropy. The Homorphus Charm is a powerful charm that will only transform a werewolf back into their human form temporarily. And at that, it will only work when the moon is _not_ full. So it is only effective at transforming a lycanthrope back to being human when they’ve chosen to change into werewolf form of their own free will. And even then you must be a powerful and experienced wizard or witch to succeed with the charm. Lycanthropy is called a curse for a reason.”

“Don’t worry Neville,” said Harry, as they walked to their next class. “I’ve got the basics of the Patronus Charm at least. We can get started in Potter Watch, hey? We don’t need the old fleabag. You know what really irritated me? That he wouldn’t even quickly mark our essays – it would have been polite. I wasted precious hours I can’t really afford to spare, working on that!”

Hermione flinched guiltily.

“You alright, Hermione?”

“Yes, fine. I just agree, that’s all,” she said quickly.

-000-

After the attack by Dementors at Quidditch match, Harry wanted to step up his efforts to master the Patronus spell. Desperate times called for desperate measures; it was time to ask more adults for help.

Professor McGonagall assured him that the teachers would protect him, and that the incident at the Quidditch pitch would _not_ be repeated. She praised his bravery again, but insisted he wasn’t old enough to master the Patronus Charm.

“Even adult wizards and witches find it difficult, Mr. Potter,” she said. “What you’ve already managed is very remarkable.” Harry found it patronizing, but guessed maybe that’s what he got for underplaying his talents in her class. It did have its downside at times like this.

He tried Professor Flitwick again, though without much optimism he would’ve changed his mind since last time. But he was too busy. “I would simply _love_ to help you, Potter! And I’m most impressed by your progress working on the spell on your own. I wouldn’t have imagined you’d get so far! But… I have a very large number of classes to manage, and a mountain of homework to mark every day that’s taller than myself. Charms is a core subject at Hogwarts, and extremely popular right to Seventh Year. I really don’t have the time.”

Harry hung his head and tried to look pitiful. “It’s really important to me to master this charm, Professor. I do so love Charms, and this one is really important, with Dementors around the school! Are you sure you can’t make an exception? You’re such a good teacher, and I really need help.”

Professor Flitwick looked sympathetic. “Oh, Harry, I am sorry. But I’m afraid if I succumbed to every request for special tutoring I wouldn’t get a moment’s rest! And if I made an exception for you, all my Ravenclaws would be green with envy! I’m sorry but I really don’t tutor outside class time except for my best Seventh Years, no matter how talented the student. And make no mistake, I can see you’re exceptionally talented at Charms. So was your mother! Sometimes these things run in the family, you know. Just keep working at it, and remember to focus hard on your happy memory while casting, at least until you get the hang of it. That’s the key to the spell, that and practice. You might like to see if one of the older students can help you out, if you need assistance.”

But he’d already tried asking students ages ago, so that left him turning to someone he’d rather not get tutoring from, but he felt he was out of alternatives. Harry turned to the last option on his list.

Professor Snape hummed thoughtfully when Harry approached him. “And why would you ask myself for assistance, rather than approaching Professor Lupin privately for help?”

Harry tilted his head quizzically. “I don’t mind him so much in classes with lots of people around, he’s a good teacher. Neville already asked and he said he was too busy to help him. And perhaps you can think of why I’d rather not be alone around Professor Lupin, especially at _certain times of the month_?

“Also, I heard from some of your Slytherins that you were one of the people who cast a Patronus on the Quidditch Pitch, and I have also heard more generally that you’re skilled enough at Defence to wish you had that teaching job instead of Potions. So I thought maybe _you_ could help.”

Snape smiled thinly at him, gazing deep into the green eyes that reminded him of the past. “Smart boy. Did you find my assigned essay topic of interest?”

“Yes, Professor, it certainly helped. Also, the fact that his Boggart is the full moon. It was a bit obvious once I thought about it – I doubt he’s terrified by Astronomy. Hermione figured it out on her own too. You know, Professor Lupin sure knows his Dark creatures, but he hasn’t taught a lot of hexes or charms for Defence. Is this something you’re capable of helping me with? Because if not, I can ask a senior student…”

His professor’s pride should hopefully be at stake now. “I am indeed _most_ capable at casting a Patronus, Mr. Potter. And I am in fact willing to assist you, however, my time is very limited.”

It was Professor Flitwick all over again. “Hang on,” said Harry, pausing to think. “How about… perhaps you could come along to Potter Watch as a guest teacher?”

“Come along to _what_?”

“It’s a Defence club we just got started. Umm, I know the name’s silly, but it’s what people made up in the Great Hall. You know, when Sirius Black got inside the castle. People were helping guard the hall generally, and also insisted on guarding me too, since I’m supposed to be a target of his. We thought about calling it the ‘Defence Association’, but I didn’t want to do that in case the rumoured curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position is tied to the word ‘Defence’. Like a taboo.”

Snape looked thoughtful. “Interesting theory.”

“There are lots of Slytherins who’ve signed up to come along,” Harry encouraged. “I’m sure they’d really appreciate a highly skilled teacher such as you-”

Snape interrupted Harry’s flattery to chide him with a shake of his head. “That was far too obvious an attempt at manipulation. And unnecessary, as you should be able to discern I’m already inclined in favour of accepting your proposal. Don’t pay a Galleon for what can be bought for a Sickle.”

“Oh. Sorry, sir.” The Dursleys always liked him laying the flattery on with a trowel, and Professors McGonagall and Flitwick never seemed to mind either. He made a mental note to tone it down with Professor Snape in the future.

So Harry simply switched to explaining about the club, and Snape agreed that an hour on Sunday would not impact on him too greatly, and he was willing to assist this once – as a favour to Harry. Harry nodded in acknowledgement of the implicit owed favour, and gave polite verbal acknowledgement of the debt. So the inaugural Potter Watch meeting on Sunday morning after breakfast would have Professor Snape attending as a guest lecturer.

“And do ensure you have some of the more level-headed students assigned to assist you in keeping order, Potter. You don’t want a farcical mess of a meeting like Lockhart’s Duelling Club,” Snape suggested.

“Why didn’t you assign them at the Duelling Club yourself, then?” Harry asked. Snape just smiled slightly. “Oh,” said Harry, with a short nod, realising what that smile implied. Snape had _wanted_ Lockhart’s club to fail miserably.

-000-

On the second Sunday of November Harry headed nervously to the club room with his friends. And Storm too, draped over his shoulders like a large scaly necklace. He was about three and a half feet long now, and as thick as a broomstick handle. Harry had needed to magically enlarge his tank. He only fit curled up in Harry’s robe pocket because they were deep pockets designed to be capacious enough to store a foot-long wand. Storm was worried someone might try and attack Harry at the meeting with spells flying everywhere, and wanted to guard him. Harry wasn’t sure it was a good plan for him to come along, but didn’t want to disappoint him.

“You’ll do great,” reassured Neville, as they headed there. “You’re a good teacher, Harry. And anyway, you’ve got Professor Snape to lecture too. So half your work is already done.”

“Maybe you could do the introductions?” Harry asked Hermione. “You know, welcome everyone and stuff? You’ve already done it for the H.E.L.P. Society.”

“No, Harry,” she replied firmly. “I want to be there just as a student – I want to learn to defend myself properly and not just be a victim all the time. And besides, you’ve got too many pure-bloods coming, and it’s _your_ club. You know how fussy they are about etiquette. I wouldn’t be seen as a friend doing you a favour because of stage fright, I think too many people would just see me as a Muggle-born usurping your authority. You have to do it yourself.”

Harry sighed. Much to his annoyance, she was probably right about that.

“Percy’s going to be there,” Neville encouraged. “He promised to keep an eye on any troublemakers, and take points if necessary. And there will be other prefects there too, like Farley from Slyth-”

Harry flinched. “Oh yes, sorry,” apologised Neville.

“What?” said Hermione, but they didn’t explain. Harry didn’t want her to know that the Slytherin prefect had _proposed_ to him last year. Well, her family had. Maybe she didn’t even know about it – he hoped not.

The room was half full of people when Harry arrived, and they pushed (and floated) all the chairs and tables over to the walls, as it became even more crowded by the time they were ready to start.

“Hi everyone, welcome,” Harry said nervously as people stared at him. “So, Potter Watch will run duelling practice and spell study sessions on the second and fourth Sundays of each month. Um. So I see we’ve got some younger students here even though it’s supposed to be for Third Years and up. And there’s lots of people, which is great, but kind of crowded. So at the end we’ll have a chat about splitting into a couple of groups, so hang around if you want to help with the organising.

“Please welcome Professor Snape,” he said, gesturing to where he was standing like a watchful sentinel at the side of the classroom amongst some Slytherin students, “who will be starting things off today with a lecture about an advanced charm to repel Dementors – the Patronus Charm.”

There was a smattering of uncertain applause.

“After he’s told us about the charm, we’ll split into two groups. If you’re an older student and you’d like to try to learn this NEWT level spell, please join the group on the right led by Professor Snape. If you’re a younger student and you haven’t mastered the Knockback Jinx, which is a Second Year charm, please move to the left and our Head Boy Percy Weasley will lead that group if there’s enough interest. We could also use a couple of volunteers to help the younger students, so if you’re an older student but you don’t want to work on the Patronus Charm please consider volunteering.”

“ _Tell them if they cannot attack well, and cannot hide, they are nothing but prey for those bigger than them_ ,” Storm encouraged.

“ _I’m not telling them that!_ ” Harry hissed. “Sorry, uh… Storm just wanted to add some encouragement to everyone. So… good luck!”

Storm hissed sulkily at Harry, “ _Why not? It’s good advice. My mother taught me that._ ”

“ _Shhh, Professor Sssnape is talking now_.”

“ _One of your Elderss? You’d best listen to his ssstoriess, then._ ”

Professor Snape garnered a lot more attention for his talk than he usually managed in Potions class. Perhaps it was because he was actually explaining something, not just writing instructions on the blackboard and yelling at them. Or perhaps it was the room crowded with eager listening faces turned towards him that moved Professor Snape to try harder than usual. Whatever the reason, both lecturer and audience were very happy with how it went, and the applause at the end was more whole-hearted and genuine than when he was first introduced.

Harry found his advice on selecting a happy memory the most useful for his own struggles with the spell. “Should you be unhappily lacking in a memory of sufficient joy to inspire you to cast the Patronus Charm, do exert your tiny minds to remember the fact that the memory itself is not the goal. It is merely one method to evoke happiness in yourself as the caster, to facilitate more optimal spellcasting. You may wish to focus instead on a manufactured thought – envision yourself achieving a highly desired goal, for instance. You could also have a compatriot cast a Cheering Charm on you, however, this method is unreliable and tends to produce a weaker Patronus. There is also the concomitant risk that the Cheering Charm may be overpowered, leaving you incapacitated by fits of hysterical laughter and thus unable to cast a Patronus, or indeed any other spell.”

The room was too crowded for everyone to practice at once, so Harry announced that two pairs of students from each group would practice at a time, under supervision. He then assigned himself to the group practising the Patronus Charm, and mingled while waiting his turn. He noticed that Ron had assigned himself as a helper for the lower years’ group, to his brother’s approval (but Ron just rolled his eyes at that). Meanwhile he was joined by Hermione, Neville, Draco, Pansy and Tracey in the upper years’ group, while Millicent seemed to want to brush up on her Knockback Jinx, and had convinced Daphne to join her for moral support. Crabbe and Gregory went into the lower years’ group too.

“It reminds me a lot of last year,” drawled Theodore Nott to Harry, after thanking him for starting the group. “Except that this time you brought your own snake.”

“The group is rather too big, though,” mused Draco, “this room just isn’t large enough.”

“I’m thinking of splitting it into a group for First and Second Years, a Third to Fifth Year group, and one for Sixth and Seventh years? What do you think? Someone else can run the other two groups, though.”

Pansy shrugged. “It won’t be as impressive in three groups, and it won’t just be _your_ group anymore.”

“The numbers just aren’t manageable,” said Hermione. “And I think it’d be better to put the Fifth years with the seniors. We’ve got an awful lot of Third Years here, and less from the upper years. Put everyone working towards OWLs and NEWTs together.”

“I guess I just wanted to get to practice with my friends and maybe a few older students,” admitted Harry. “But there’s just too many people. I didn’t expect it would be so popular.”

“Well if you _must_ split the club up,” said Pansy, with a brief glance at Hermione, “perhaps you could go along to all three sessions? Purely to supervise the younger years, and to join in the practice with the older years.”

Harry rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. “I might if I can find the time, I guess.”

The lower years were having fun blasting each other into a pile of conjured cushions, but the older students were generally disappointed to not produce anything more than a wisp or cloud of silver mist.

Derrick, as one of the older students there (being in Sixth Year) and more skilled at Defence than many, was the first to get anything other than an amorphous cloud of mist. He had, after all, been practising the charm a little with Harry already. He briefly managed to manifest a bird-shaped Patronus near the end of the session, to gasps and wild applause. The Fifth Year Hufflepuff student Cedric Diggory from didn’t quite get an animal, but did get a very large shining blob of mist for his persistent practice, and the admiration of his peers (especially the other Hufflepuffs).

Harry just got a large cloud of mist at first, which made him a bit grumpy. He rarely got anything better than that when casting, and it was frustrating.

“My newest tip I got is to try visualising your animal while you cast,” whispered Derrick encouragingly as he awaited his next turn. “Our family crest has an eagle, so I was trying to think about birds, since Professor Snape said you often find family members will have similar Patroni.”

Harry nodded with determination, and stepped up to Professor Snape, ready to take his turn. “Sir, do you know if there’s any animals associated with the Potter family? That my Geni… Patronus might be likely to be?”

Snape gave him a thoughtful look. “I believe the Potter family crest is traditionally accompanied by a Hippocampus.” He hesitated, like he was going to say something else, but then his mouth snapped shut like a steel trap, and he just gestured for the next set of pairs to start taking their turns. Draco merely conjured a little patch of mist, which must’ve disappointed him because Harry knew he’d been hoping for a majestic dragon.

Harry didn’t cast right away, he spent a moment visualising his perfect image to induce happiness. He saw himself, graduating from university as a doctor, with the highest honours. His friends were there applauding and cheering loudly, and so was Dudley. Storm peeked out from under Harry’s invisibility cloak at Pansy’s feet to hiss his praise – he always knew Harry could do it. Petunia looked fit to burst with surprised pride, and his uncle was scowling with envy and regret. Someone from St. Mungo’s was shaking his hand, promising him a grant to study whatever he wanted. And once he had that delightful scenario locked in his mind, Harry pictured his family animal as best he could, calling it with respect and appreciation as his family’s Genius.

A large cloud of mist emerged from his wand, forming a vaguely animal-shaped cloud. He could make out a pair of thin legs at the front, and what could be a horse’s head atop it. The rest was a bit of a misty blur. While trying to maintain his spellcasting focus, he bowed low to it, politely proud in his accomplishment and grateful it had appeared after weeks of practice, however indistinctly.

“Thank you for heeding my call, guardian spirit of my family,” he said softly, and concentrated on channelling his happiness and appreciation to it, in a similar way to how he’d been working on empowering the Circle at Potter Manor.

It brightened noticeably to a shinier silver, and the features of the horse’s head became more distinct, showing the face more clearly, and a fin-like mane on top of its head. The back half of his Patronus showed the blurry suggestion of a tail, before Harry’s strength failed him and he had to drop the spell.

He got the loudest cheers yet, even though Derrick’s Patronus had appeared more quickly and distinctly.

Harry blushed. “Thank you. I _have_ been practicing for weeks, so it’s not quite as impressive as it seems,” he demurred.

“ _I was hoping for a sssnake_ ,” grumbled Storm, unimpressed. “ _Sssnakess are very protective and ssspecial, you know._ ”

Students clustered around him demanding to know his secret, beyond the unsatisfying explanation of, “I just practised.” He’d not just managed the spell, he’d done it as a Third Year student! And gotten a magical creature, not just an ordinary animal! Of the teachers, only Dumbledore had been observed to have a magical creature as a Patronus – a phoenix.

“Derrick recommended focusing on your family’s heraldic animal – if you don’t have a family crest maybe try and think of an animal strongly associated with your family, or something you think of as protective. Professor Snape said family members sometimes have the same Patronus.” Harry hesitated a moment, then added, “I’ve heard from someone that historically they used to take the form of a snake, if you didn’t have an animal strongly associated with your family. So maybe try visualising that if you don’t have a bias against snakes. And try being polite and sending a welcome to your Patronus’ spirit.”

“Spirit? It’s just an ordinary spell isn’t it?” asked Hermione, confused.

“Yes, Miss Granger, that’s correct. You’ll find the Ministry’s official opinion is that this spell is classed as a ‘Light’ Charm, and the Patroni are of course merely magical constructs,” said Professor Snape smoothly, speaking from a couple of rows back, over the heads of some of the students.

Hermione nodded, feeling completely justified and supported in her statement. And for a pleasant change, not insulted by Professor Snape.

Harry hesitated, glancing at Snape for a moment, who raised his eyebrows with a meaningful look. “Yes, it’s just a spell like any other,” said Harry, lying to the audience. “It was just symbolic, a figure of speech. What I mean is that you want to focus on the feeling of happiness, and kind of happily anticipate your Patronus arriving – that’s focusing on the success of the spell. Sorry if I’m not expressing myself well.” A number of Slytherins watched the byplay intently, listening in their accustomed way for the undercurrents in the conversation as much as the actual words. Potter was hinting at his Traditionalist practices, and thought the charm involved summoning a spirit. Professor Snape was hinting he was right, and that it wasn’t classified as a Dark spell perhaps only because the Ministry refused to acknowledge it as one. And fascinatingly, Potter was willing to look for a cue from their Head of House about what to stay quiet about.

After a little more practice, Harry wrapped up the meeting with a discussion of splitting the club into three separate groups meeting consecutively on Sundays for an hour each. Hermione provided some parchment from her ever-full schoolbag, and they made three separate sign-up sheets, and asked volunteers to run and supervise the sessions to stay behind.

“Will you be running all of the groups?” asked Colin Creevey, waving his hand in the air excitedly to get Harry’s attention.

“I’ll help with organising them all, but I’m thinking of just running the middle group for third to fourth year students. I will help supervise the lower year group when I can spare the time, and I’m hoping to be a student in the senior year group, if no-one minds.”

“And how come you get to be in all the groups, and I can’t join the third year group? What makes you the teacher?” asked a young blonde-haired boy with brown eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Zacharias Smith. I’m in second year.”

“Good question, Smith. It’s because I started the group, basically. You’re welcome to set up your own study group, if you’d prefer. I know a number of Ravenclaws have private study groups, where they study as they wish – gather some friends and have a look at the club room calendar if you’d like to find a time to book the room. Alternatively, if you’re satisfied that last year’s experience in your Defence Against the Dark Arts class or your own private study has left you exceptionally skilled at the subject, please remain behind at the end with the other volunteers interesting in helping supervise the younger years’ group.” There were a few muffled titters at the thought of one year of Lockhart’s teaching producing a DADA prodigy, but nothing obvious enough for the boy to challenge, though he scowled a little.

“Any more questions?” A couple of older students wanted to know what they’d be studying if they returned for the most senior group for fifth to seventh years, given he was younger than them.

“I thought we’d keep working on the Patronus Charm for a while, and maybe practice the Shield Charm. Though I’m totally open to suggestions so if there’s something one of you is skilled at I’m happy to jump in and try and learn something new. If it’s over my head I’ll skip that session – remember I do want someone _else_ to lead the senior year Potter Watch.”

Percy wanted to lead the junior _and_ senior year groups, but the preponderance of united Slytherins won the day, and appointed the sixth year Peregrine Derrick to lead the senior group, which the Ravenclaws like Alice Tolipan and her friends seemed satisfied with too, though Percy’s girlfriend Penelope Clearwater seemed disappointed with the decision. A couple of Hufflepuffs frowned a little, and while Harry couldn’t hear what they said in their little huddle, Diggory’s words and smile as he shook his head seemed to soothe their concerns, whatever they were.

In more positive news Percy was at least happy to be unanimously approved as the leader for the junior Potter Watch group. They were pretty thrilled to have the Head Boy as their group leader, and though some still wanted Harry to run it they were mollified by his promise to show up when he could to assist.

Professor Snape and most of the students left, but a small handful stayed to chat and mingle with Harry as he packed up and restored the furniture in the room to where it was originally. A couple of keen people volunteered to help the group leaders keep order in the sessions, which was appreciated. Hermione apologised and said she had to go and start some homework. She’d been rushing off a lot lately.

“It’s fine, we can finish up without you,” he said obligingly, winning a smile from her.

“ _She sssmell-tastess guilty_ ,” said Storm.

“ _She probably **is** feeling that way. But it’s my group, ssso it’s my responsibility to tidy up afterwardss, not herss_ ,” replied Harry. “ _Ssso it’s alright if she rushess off. I just hope she’s not crosss with me that I didn’t let her be in the sssenior group._ ”

Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff approached Harry nervously. “Hello Harry. Are you chatting with your snake? I’m not interrupting anything important, am I? I wouldn’t want to intrude – I just wanted to say hello.”

Harry smiled. “Hi Ernie. And I’m happy to talk. Storm and I were just chatting about Hermione leaving early.”

Ernie seized happily on the innocuous topic of conversation. “Your friend Granger’s very smart, isn’t she? I can’t tell you how glad we pure-bloods are to have someone like her in our Muggle Studies class.”

“What?” Harry said, very confused. She didn’t take that class. She did Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, and Arithmancy.

“It’s not just because she’s a token Muggle-born!” Ernie added hastily. “I really mean it – she’s exceptionally helpful with some of her questions and comments about the lessons. I never knew before that ‘moving staircases’ in the Muggle world were different to the ones we have here at Hogwarts. Apparently the last Headmaster and some of the old Hogwarts Board of Directors had the same confusion over the matter that I did. Old Headmaster Dippet had our staircases here enchanted earlier this century when he got a lot of suggestions from Muggle-born families about copying the Muggle variety. Did you know they’re not supposed to swing to new locations, but in fact instead have the stair treads themselves move upwards in a loop so you don’t have to walk anywhere, you just stay put on one step while it moves you about?” Ernie hesitated as Harry kept giving him a strange look. “Oh, my humblest apologies. Of course you would know all about Muggle mechanical devices already.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Harry said. “I was just surprised. I didn’t actually know Hermione was doing Muggle Studies with you, you see. I don’t see how she has room for it in her timetable.”

“She didn’t really have room for it at all, apparently. Professor Burbage said she was joining us for the Hufflepuff class because there was a timetable clash with some other subjects she was taking. It happens sometimes, if there’s not enough people in your House interested in a subject, or you’re trying to do a lot of electives.”

“Is she doing any other subjects with Hufflepuff?”

“Lily says she’s also in her Ancient Runes class,” he said, sounding uncertain. “But didn’t you know that already? Aren’t you good friends?”

Harry smiled confidently with a flash of teeth. “Oh, I knew she was doing some subjects with other Houses, but I wasn’t sure which ones were with Hufflepuff! Her timetable’s a bit of a mess!”

Harry was a hound on the scent. Hermione was doing Divination and Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors – the two electives she’d originally claimed to have chosen. Then there was Arithmancy with the Ravenclaws that she’d admitted to when challenged some time ago. And now there was the revelation about Muggle Studies and Ancient Runes with the Hufflepuffs. There was no plausible reason for Ernie to be lying to him about her being in their classes. And there was no reasonable way she could manage that many subjects, even with all the sneaking off for private study she’d been doing lately. He concluded logically that if there wasn’t a reasonable way, then there must be a magical one. He was going to find out how exactly she was managing to be in two places at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I could be wrong, but it bugs me a little that JKR’s dates for Lupin’s absences don’t always seem to match the actual dates of full moons for 1993/94 according to the calendar. I’ve sort of stuck with some of JKR’s dates so that canonical events happen in the correct order. However, in general they will match the real world calendar where possible.
> 
> Toraach – Thanks for the chat about werewolves that prompted me to write about Harry’s essay on werewolves. I hope everyone enjoyed Harry’s musings on the topic. :)
> 
> Alyan – I hope you liked Harry’s Patronus. I didn’t really feel my Harry felt a strong connection to James.
> 
> Jon Reeve - Welcome back!
> 
> Thanks everyone for your reviews last week. :)


	13. Time to Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry confronts Hermione about the mystery of her classes. He unburdens his worries about the hidden diary to Neville, and Ron shares his own tale of woe with Harry.

**_November 1993_ **

Once he set his mind to the task it didn’t take Harry very long to uncover how Hermione was managing that crazy timetable she’d passed off at the start of the year as being due solely to not having finalised her selection of electives yet.

It only took a little research in the library with Madam Pince’s help – she hated noisy or untidy children who left books lying about everywhere, but Harry had learnt she was always happy to help students research a topic if they acted genuinely appreciative of her assistance. His first research efforts yielded an interesting treatise on doppelgängers (also known as a fetch or vardøger) – an exact copy of someone, sometimes wicked and interfering with one’s life, or sometimes more like a future echo. Apparently the author held the strong view that they were _not_ a magical creature, but usually the result of wizards or witches abusing Polyjuice Potion to the bewilderment of Muggles, and in rare cases were manifestations of the Sight allowing a Muggle-born to glimpse themselves in the future.

After that fascinating but unproductive digression pretty soon Harry’s research yielded the most obvious answer – Hermione must have a Time-Turner. But how? Their use was highly restricted by the Ministry, due to the potential for abuse. They were extremely expensive, rare, and heavily regulated. The key component in their crafting was magical Egyptian sand scavenged from key points inside the pyramids, and it was very scarce – exports were heavily restricted. The Ministry’s small stockpile seemed to have been obtained in the 1800’s.

Harry mulled it over for a little while, but in the end he went with the simplest (and more Gryffindor) way of figuring out what exactly was going on – he decided just to confront her about it.

It was a little tricky to draw her aside for a private chat because of the way she tended to dart off to study on her own these days, and his wish to avoid students or portraits listening in to their conversation. If she was doing something underhanded in possessing a Time-Turner, he didn’t want her to get into trouble over it. Finally he caught her in the library before breakfast on Saturday, which was a time most students were either having a sleep-in, or doing Quidditch practice.

“Good morning, Hermione.”

She looked up from the library desk with a welcoming smile, putting her book down. “Good morning, Harry! Did you want to join me in some studying this morning?”

He sat down next to her and pulled some books and notes out. “Absolutely. What are you studying today?”

She looked embarrassed and shuffled some papers into a concealing pile. He spotted a few runes on one of them. “Oh, just… Arithmancy.”

“Really? Because that looked like your Ancient Runes homework,” he said in a casual tone of voice. “How are you going writing your essay on the historical or practical applications of limrunar ‘branch-runes’? I decided to focus on their usefulness in preparing trees for use in wandcrafting.”

Hermione mouth opened briefly then snapped shut, as she obviously caught herself before answering with her first thoughts. “I don’t do Ancient Runes. There’s no room for it in my timetable, you know that.” She looked down and to the left, avoiding eye contact as she piled her papers more carefully.

“You don’t do Ancient Runes? Really? Would the Hufflepuff Ancient Runes class agree with that?” Harry asked, with a serious look in his eye.

She sighed and wilted, slumping in her chair. “Yes, well, it’s difficult juggling four electives, and I didn’t want you to feel-”

“- _Five_ electives. You’re doing Muggle Studies with the Hufflepuffs as well. And to cut straight to the chase, I know you have a Time-Turner. What I _don’t_ know is how you got it, and if you’re using it legally or not,” he said, dropping his voice to a quiet murmur at the end, just in case of eavesdroppers (including potentially busybody portraits).

Hermione looked quite shocked for a moment, then shook her head ruefully. “I _told_ Professor McGonagall you’d probably eventually figure it out. It’s legal, I promise, it’s just supposed to stay a big secret. That’s why I took three of my electives with the other Houses – to reduce the chance of being caught out. Sorry, Harry. I’m really sorry I lied to you about my classes, but I _promised_ faithfully not to tell anyone. I even swore on the House of Granger’s honour! Though she laughed a bit at that and told me my word was enough. She says swearing on your House is out-of-fashion and encourages elitist attitudes, and is discouraged by the school.”

Harry nodded. “So is it her Time-Turner then, or is it supplied by the school? How many are there available?  I could really use one too!”

Hermione looked a bit guilty as she answered, “There’s just the one. It’s Professor McGonagall’s personal possession – they’re quite rare you know. She lends it out only very occasionally – like when there’s an OWL level student taking lots of subjects that they can’t juggle their timetable to accommodate. Percy had it last before me – he took all five electives and got straight Os!”

“Wouldn’t it be really useful for him for NEWTs as well?”

“Oh, she doesn’t want NEWT students using it. Because they’re the grades employers and Masters really look at – it would be an unfair advantage for gaining employment or an Apprenticeship. By then you should have narrowed down your career plans enough to select a smaller amount of subjects. So that’s why she lends it to responsible and smart third to fifth years - those of us who are still undecided about our future careers who can’t bear the thought of ruling out options just because we didn’t take the right electives!”

Harry nodded. “That makes sense. But why doesn’t she make it a public offer? I didn’t even hear about it.”

“Percy said he hinted about it to you…?”

Harry thought about it for a moment, remembering the prefect’s hints to talk to Professor McGonagall if he wanted to do lots of electives. “I suppose he did, in a way. But I told him I was only going to take two electives.”

“So you don’t really need it as much as I do – you know what career you want after all.”

Harry frowned a little at her. “Yes, I do know what career I want. Which is why I’m taking _seven_ non-core classes this year.”

“What?! Oh…” she trailed off, quickly realising what he was talking about.

“Yes, my correspondence courses. Latin, French, English, Maths, and Biology. And let me tell you, I’m getting pretty stressed out trying to juggle them all _and_ still finding time to organise Potter Watch and assist with the H.E.L.P. Society. And still have time for friends. I think I could make a good case to Professor McGonagall about why I need that Time-Turner more than you do. Didn’t you say the other day you were thinking about dropping Divination anyway?”

She chewed her lip. “I’m still thinking about it. But I’m hoping I’ll find a divination method that works better for me in a later class. Maybe casting the runes, or crystal ball gazing. Even if I quit that, I’d still have four classes – so I’d still need the Time-Turner.”

Harry waited patiently, leaning back in his chair and just watching her as she thought about everything.

“We could share it?” she offered hesitantly, after a little thought. “I’m not supposed to, really, but… I don’t want to lose it altogether. If you tell her you’re doing so many subjects – you really should have done that already by the way – I think she might give it to you instead. I know you need it, but so do I. Please, Harry. I can’t do all the electives without it.”

Harry’s beaming smile reassured her all was well, and he held no grudge for keeping secrets from him. At least, not now she was going to share the Time-Turner.

They had a quiet little chat about how they’d manage things. The Time-Turner had a maximum safety threshold of five hours of repeated time per use (which he promised her faithfully he’d respect), and she usually used it once or twice a day. She spun it every lunchtime to repeat the morning classes, and on a couple of other days at the end of classes to repeat an afternoon block. She never used it after the end of the school day, or on weekends. She explained the importance of responsible use, limiting use so you didn’t age too fast, how incredibly critical it was to avoid running into yourself to prevent paradoxes, how you could only repeat a given span of time once, and the importance of avoiding getting caught by other students.

“Not a problem. I’ve got a private place I like to study,” he said, thinking of the Chamber of Secrets, “so I’ll just go there whenever I’ve doubled up time.”

After a little discussion about how to most optimally arrange things, they made an arrangement for Hermione to hand over the Time-Turner to Harry after the last class of the afternoon.

“I don’t need it to attend extra classes, after all, so it doesn’t matter that I miss out on the morning block – I don’t want to upset your studies, Hermione. We want to avoid people seeing us passing it back and forth or using it, and it’d be a pain to arrange exactly when and where to meet up at lunch – if you usually use it in a secluded corridor that’s going to be tough to co-ordinate. I can more simply just repeat the afternoon, and then use the Time-Turner a second time in the evening if I need extra time for study. I prefer studying in the evenings, anyway,” he explained. “I can return it to you at breakfast each morning, or in the Common Room before that if I see you there.”

Hermione seemed happy and relieved by the arrangement. “I promised not to use it on weekends by the way, so I don’t think you should use it then either. So I’ll just collect it on Saturday mornings to wear all weekend. I don’t use it – it’s just to keep it safe. And I’ll have to turn it over to Professor McGonagall before final exams, of course.

“I have been worrying over you not having time enough to study. I’m sort of glad you caught me out, you know.”

“I know. You’re a good friend, Hermione.”

They settled down for a good chat about Ancient Runes after that – Hermione had been dying to chat with him about it for a while, and waffled happily about how her essay on branch runes was going to be on how they were carved on trees at the borders of dragon sanctuaries to reduce risks of fires in the area, and to discourage dragons from straying over the warded borders.

“Is it your favourite subject?” Harry asked curiously. “I’m loving Charms and Ancient Runes the best at the moment, though Potions is actually quite fun in its own way too.”

“Arithmancy is my favourite,” gushed Hermione. “Did you know that arithmantic calculations were used to build the ancient stone Circles that the practitioners of the Old Ways revere?”

“No, I didn’t know that!”

“It’s fascinating! I love how the calculations can help with potions research, and spell creation – all kinds of things! It is so integral to a theoretical understanding of all kinds of disciplines! And I’ll tell you something fascinating I bet you’ll be interested in knowing – Arithmancy ties in heavily with Astronomy. On its own Astronomy isn’t especially useful as a subject for wizards and witches, but it remains in the Hogwarts curriculum mostly because of its connection with the Old Ways. When you add in Arithmancy, you can properly calculate the optimal positioning of ritual Circles, and their alignment with celestial bodies and astronomical events like the solstices. As a subject on its own I must say that I’ve often felt that Astronomy is quite behind the times, scientifically. Why, we don’t even discuss the moon landings, let alone the recent discoveries of exoplanets! But that’s because those things aren’t very significant magically – it’s all supposed to help those interested in ritual worship, but that content has been removed from the curriculum. Well, arguably it’s just more fractured and split off. There’s some astrology in Divination, and the raw calculations in Arithmancy. But it used to be a much more _religious_ class to help those interested in ritual worship, I think.”

“You’re making me wish I’d taken Arithmancy, now,” sighed Harry. “But what's done is done. And I do like my electives.”

Hermione patted him gently on the arm, and he remembered to stay still to let her do so – she wasn’t going to hurt him. “I understand. I’ll lend you my notes if you like. You’re going to have extra free time now – you can skim through to the interesting bits.”

They spent a comfortable morning together catching up, Harry feeling secure in having free time for socialising with the promise of sharing the Time-Turner from Monday onwards, and at breakfast she chattered happily about her “Names of Power” assignment for Arithmancy.

“We each had to pick someone to write about who’s chosen a Name of Power. I picked Professor Sprout,” she said. “Did you know that Pomona Sprout wasn’t her birth name?”

“No, I didn’t,” said Harry, buttering a crumpet.

“What was her original family name?” asked Neville, joining in the conversation.

“She used to be Pamela Smith,” explained Hermione. “But during her Herbology Apprenticeship, she wanted to enhance her alignment with the Earth element, and plant focused magic. So her new surname also starts with the letter S, to tie it back to her family name, and the even number of letters in her given and family names are more balanced for a calming effect – odd numbers of letters in a name are more volatile, and better for say, a Transfiguration Master.”

“Professor McGonagall I think didn’t change her name?” queried Harry.

“No, not everyone does. Some people have to weigh up family pride against a possible slight increase in power or spellcasting effectiveness.”

“So how about Pamela changing to Pomona? It’s the same number of letters, I noticed, and starts with the same letter as well.”

“A Name of Power should always carry an echo of your former name, to link it to you. The more links the better. Her newer first name echoes the P, m, and a in her original name in the same positions, as well as having the same number of letters, and now evokes the ancient Roman goddess of fruit trees and gardens. It’s a very propitious choice, arithmantically – very strong and grounded, and suitable for one with an interest in Herbology.”

It made Harry wonder about Lord Voldemort, or _flight of death_ , as his mind translated the possibly French-derived name. A _vol de mort_ – it could be like a group of planes flying in formation to bomb an enemy, or a flock of dark birds soaring through the sky together like an eerie omen of doom. It certainly sounded more impressively menacing than “Tom Riddle”. He didn’t need to know Arithmancy to instinctually grasp that as power-laden names for Dark Lords went, “Tom” lacked a certain something.

-000-

Harry told Neville all about Hermione’s secret, of course.

“Did you know Hermione has a Time-Turner?” Harry asked Neville, while sequestered up in the boys’ dorm privately on Sunday evening before dinner. No spying portraits up there!

“Does she? Well that seems likely. I should’ve guessed, with that crazy timetable. I feel a bit dumb now. But, in my defence, she did _say_ she was only doing three subjects.”

Harry blinked. “You’re not… surprised at all?”

“Not really. Percy said that sometimes Professor McGonagall lends hers to the highest achieving student in a year, from third to fifth year only, if they’re responsible and want to do extra classes. He eventually told me when I was worrying over wanting to take lots of subjects to keep all my relatives happy. I’m not surprised it’s her.”

“I never knew there was a time travel reward for good grades!” Harry said, aggrieved. “He never told _me_ about it that obviously. He just vaguely hinted I should talk to Professor McGonagall.”

“Didn’t you know?” said Neville with an apologetic look. “I thought you weren’t interested – some people find that kind of thing creepy, or worry about the paradox risk. Percy said not to gossip about it – it tends to cause envy and dissension.”

“She’s going to share it with me so I can do my Muggle subjects – did you want to join in too? Have more time for homework?”

Neville shook his head. “See? Envy. But for me? No, I’d probably just break it, or forget where I was supposed to be and ruin everything by running into myself. Maybe we could ask her when it’s exam time if I need to study? And you could help me not get all mixed up?”

“Sure.” Hmph. He wasn’t envious. Harry thought it just wasn’t _fair_ , that’s all. He could’ve made a case for needing one to do his Muggle subjects, if he’d been told about it. Or brought up his Transfiguration grade in time to impress her. At least Hermione was going to share, so he wouldn’t have to make a case for why he should have the Time-Turner.

“So since it’s just the two of us, can I ask you something, Harry?” Neville said cautiously.

“What is it?”

“It’s about the diary. I’m worried about it being just out there in the forest. With a spirit trapped in it,” Neville said nervously. “Weren’t you going to burn it?”

“Yes, I was. I am. Probably. It’s just… Professor Snape said it can drive someone mad if you destroy part of their spirit. What if it makes things worse? Do we really want an _insane_ Dark Lord’s spirit out there, ten times worse than he was already? But then, we don’t want an evil Dark Lord teenage-ghost-thing out in the _forest_ , either. And I haven’t been able to learn Fiendfyre yet. Like your Gran kind of hinted, it’s a prohibited spell labelled as Dark magic by the Ministry. I did find out the incantation though, from a book in the Restricted Section, thanks to a deal I made with the Slytherins to borrow some books for me. But… well, even if I wanted to cast it, it’s really dangerous. The fire can turn on you, and a lot of casters get burned alive. I really don’t want to practice it on my own!”

Neville blanched at the thought. “You could go and collect the book though, and turn it in to the Ministry to destroy?”

Harry sighed. “Theoretically I could, though it’d ruin Lockhart’s reputation, and mine. I’ve also been thinking of just going out there and seeing if I have any luck just stabbing at it with a steel knife – iron, you know. And well… just in case something happens to me, maybe you should know where it is – my directions were that it’s hidden at the base of a large boulder with a big sharp chip out of one side about the size of a cat, next to a giant oak tree. Coming from Hogwarts you head directly west in a straight line aiming to pass between Hagrid’s hut and the paddocks. Stay south of the centaur’s territory, and once past that, head north towards a large single menhir which lies in a clearing to the west of the unicorn’s meadow. The large boulder with a chip is almost within sight of the menhir, on the edge of the clearing. I haven’t been there yet, but it sounds pretty distinctive and _hopefully_ shouldn’t be too hard to find. But there’s Dementors all through the forest! I don’t want to get my soul sucked out!”

“I think you’re pretty good at the Patronus Charm now?” Neville said hesitantly.

“Not good enough to want to chance it. I heard they’re leaving the centaurs and forest creatures alone – but any wizard straying out of the school grounds could be in trouble. And yeah… I _really_ don’t want to have to explain to the Ministry why I kept it hidden.” He sighed. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

They sat in silence together for a while. “You know,” said Harry, “I’ve been really worrying over Professor Quirrell. I really think maybe he was being possessed or controlled by the Dark Lord.”

“Seriously?” said Neville, very shocked. “Well, I hope the Aurors catch him soon, then. But you know… you don’t have to be under the Imperius to follow You-Know-Who. Maybe he was a Death Eater. Bringing the Philosopher’s Stone to his Lord would be quite a prize.” Neville started getting quite alarmed at the thought, rambling about the possible imminent reign of terror led by an immortal and fabulously wealthy You-Know-Who, until Harry interrupted him.

“It was a fake – the Stone. It wasn’t a real one.”

“Really? How do you know?”

“Professor Dumbledore told me. Quirrell only got away with a fake. But I promised not to tell, so you _mustn’t_ tell anyone else,” lied Harry, _still_ not wanting to admit to his correspondence with Quirrell.

“That is a great weight off my mind then,” Neville said with relief. “You really should turn that diary over to someone soon, though.”

“I will, when I get a chance. I just don’t know who to trust, or whether it would be best to burn it, or just leave it hidden where it is,” Harry said. “I guess I really wanted to handle it myself. At least I know everyone’s staying out of the forest – there’s no chance that anyone else will risk the Dementors either.” Harry collected Storm and they headed down to dinner.

Tiny beady little black eyes watched them intently from atop Ron’s pillow, as they’d done for most of the boys’ conversation, as Scabbers listened intently to every word they said with uncharacteristic attention. Neither of the boys noticed as the rat scurried out the dorm door after them before it swung closed.

-000-

Harry had a great time with the Time-Turner, spending his doubled up time in the Chamber of Secrets (with only occasional forays elsewhere to use one of the old abandoned classrooms he’d frequented over the past couple of years – mostly for occasional Potions brewing). He caught up on his correspondence course assignments and studying for his Hogwarts subjects as needed, responded to a backlog of fans’ letters and other social correspondence, and chatted with Ambrosius and Storm, who were both loving his increased company.

Hermione, striving to be responsible and conscientious with the responsibility of the magical artefact she’d been entrusted with, was usually only using the Time-Turner in the mornings to repeat three to four hours a day between breakfast and lunch so she could get to her extra classes. Then on a couple of days a week when her timetable demanded it she repeated an afternoon block from midday until just before four o’clock, when she had a class after lunchtime.

Harry on the other hand was much less frugal with his use of the incredibly useful object. He started out by only using it twice a day, but soon switched into using it three times a day for four hours at a time. An extra half a day for every day that passed! But he’d decided not to worry right now about the potential impact on his rate of aging as it should only add up to less than three and a half months for every full year of use according to his calculations (used five days a week only during school time).

The reason for the increase was that he’d quickly concluded that repeating his afternoons was quite tiring – when his body thought it was late at night and time for a good night’s sleep the rest of the world thought it was only the afternoon. So he’d soon decided to follow the biological standard of two thirds of your time spent awake, and one third asleep, and dedicated an afternoon block from four until eight o’clock to a good solid four hour nap. Hermione said she was catching cat naps when she had free periods during the day, which sounded much less restful to him. No wonder she looked so tired so often.

To keep a track of his personal time and avoid running into himself, he used his dad’s old fob watch a lot. He also nicked extra food from the Gryffindor table at lunch time and dinner to cover his need for an extra meal or two – since he was known to cache snacks this behaviour went unremarked.

The usual weekday pattern he quickly settled into was to do all his classes in normal time until around four o’clock when he got the Time-Turner off Hermione in the afternoon. Then he’d sneak off to the Chamber of Secrets or an abandoned classroom to rewind time four hours, and would then study from around midday to four o’clock. His body was then convinced it was getting late, so he’d have “first dinner” and then nap in his hideaway until eight o’clock, before using the Time-Turner to rewind time to four o’clock again. He’d emerge from hiding to socialise with friends in the library or Common Room, and do bits of study four until eight. After that it was time to have “second dinner” with Storm and his friends in the Great Hall, like a happy little hobbit. After second dinner he would sneak off to the Chamber again to study until midnight and have a little late night supper snack, before rewinding time so he could return to his friends (or go straight to the dorm) just after eight o’clock – in plenty of time to meet his curfew and be observed wrapping up any stray bits of Hogwarts homework and dealing with the evening’s mail in his dorm before bed.

It was complicated at first, but as he had a very consistent pattern he soon got into the hang of things. Hermione didn’t seem to mind sharing the device at all, and in fact was a bit _less_ stressed now she didn’t have to lie to her friends about where she was going all the time. They kept up the pretence in front of their Slytherin friends, of course. There was such a thing as being _too_ open.

-000-

It took a few days of searching and worrying before Weasley confronted Harry about his missing pet rat, though Harry had heard him talking about it to some of the other boys in their dorm. Harry was in a good mood at dinner when Ron finally approached him about it – having just spent the doubled-up afternoon finishing a major assignment for Biology, and the Charms homework that was due next week.

Weasley glanced at Storm draped around Harry’s neck as he sat down near Harry’s spot at the table. Storm didn’t get as much attention as he used to – people were getting used to him now, which Harry was very pleased about. “Hi Potter,” he said politely.

“Weasley.”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Scabbers has gone missing,” he said, glancing at Storm.

Harry gave him a frosty look, suspecting what accusation he might come out with. “Yes, I heard,” he said shortly. Harry folded his arms and waited expectantly, mentally rehearsing what he’d say in response when Ron accused Storm of eating Scabbers.

“So about Storm, I was wondering if you could ask him to track where Scabbers might have got to?”

Harry blinked in amazement. “What?”

“Well, we might not be best mates anymore, but I thought maybe you could ask Storm to help track where he might have gone? I’m really worried about Scabbers. He’s not well – he’s been off his food for a while, and even losing some fur. I know he’s just a rat, but he’s _my_ rat, and I’m worried he’s lying hidden somewhere, too sick to come home to the dorm.”

“You’re not going to accuse Storm of eating him?” Harry asked cautiously.

The red-head rubbed at the back of his freckled neck self-consciously. “Well, I wouldn’t swear by Merlin that the thought never crossed my mind. But I thought it through first before talking to you, and I think Storm’s innocent. I didn’t want to say something rash again to you that I’d regret, and accuse you or your snake of… doing stuff with no evidence.”

Merlin be praised, the boy could learn! “I’m impressed. Thanks, Weasley.” He smiled and nodded his gratitude.

Weasley nodded back politely. “Storm’s never bothered Scabbers – not even once. Or Trevor, or any of the other pets you introduced him to. I know he usually prefers to eat fish and tadpoles, or baby mice. And if he’d eaten Scabbers, there’d probably be a big rat-sized lump in his belly. And I don’t think there is. So yeah… I don’t think your snake ate him.”

“ _Ssstorm,_ ” hissed Harry, “ _my friend here has lost his pet rat. Do you remember it?_ ”

“ _Yess, it’s a nice ssspecial rat_ ,” he hissed, raising his head off Harry’s shoulder to chat. “ _What about it_?”

“ _Have you ssseen where it went, or do you know what happened to it?_ ”

“ _I haven’t ssseen or sssmell-tasted it being around for a few dayss. I don’t know where it is._ ”

“ _Could you help uss look for it? Sssee if you can pick up a trail?_ ”

“ _I’d be happy to help, Harold._ ”

“He says he hasn’t seen it for a few days, but he’s happy to help look for it,” Harry translated. And trailed by a few curious Gryffindors including his friends, Creevey, and Ginny Weasley, Harry took Storm to the boys’ dorm and from there to the Common Room to have a sniff around for a scent trail, with his tongue flicking in and out to taste the air. They trooped after Storm as he caught an old scent, and followed him out of the dorm with Creevey happily clicking away with his bulky old-fashioned camera (having been granted permission to photograph the small expedition).

Harry carried Storm down the stairs (to save him some uncomfortable slithering) and they picked the trail up again in the corridors, though it was difficult going as Storm said a lot of people had travelled along the corridors in the past few days, making tracking difficult on the plain stone floors. Storm eventually decided that the rat might’ve gone outside, so they went out the nearest door. Out on the damp grass in the shade of the ancient stone walls, the scent was reportedly clearer than on the stone flagstones.

“ _I think it ssscurried off thiss way, in the direction of the forest,_ ” said Storm, trailing the scent for only a short distance towards the trees. “ _But you told me not to go into the forest alone thiss year, correct?_ ”

“ _That’ss right, it’s too dangerouss. Did Ssscabberss sssmell hurt or sssick?_ ”

“ _No. I think possibly a little afraid. But not hurt._ ”

“ _Well, thankss for helping._ ”

“ _Tell the ssspotty boy I want a reward. I want another ssspecial worm to eat. They were tasty_.”

Harry laughed, then looked around embarrassed as he noticed people watching him curiously. “Uh, Storm said he wants a reward for helping. A Flobberworm to eat. It just sounded funny how he said it. It doesn’t translate well.” _Spotty_ , he thought with amusement.

Weasley shrugged. “Sure, I can get a worm for him. What did he say about Scabbers?”

“He’s pretty sure Scabbers ran off into the Forbidden Forest,” he said, eliciting a groan from Weasley. “But, if it’s any comfort, Scabbers didn’t smell hurt or sick, so he’s probably alright.”

“Do you think he could find him in the forest?”

Harry hesitated. “Maybe. But we couldn’t really do it safely… the Dementors, you know. And if he went on his own, how would he bring him back? It’s not like he has hands. Scabbers wouldn’t want to lie still to be carried in Storm’s mouth. He’d get hurt even if Storm was really careful. He’s got a lot of sharp teeth.”

Weasley sighed. “I guess that’s it, then. At least there’s a chance he’s living happily in the forest.”

“Maybe he’ll come back?” suggested Ginny shyly to her brother. “When he realises there’s not a lot of food out there, and it’s cold?”

“Maybe. Well, thanks for trying Ha… Potter. And thanks to Storm too, of course. I appreciate it.”

Harry said polite and optimistic things about how maybe Weasley’s rat would show up later, but privately, he thought none of them would ever see Scabbers again. That rat was gone for good, probably into a hungry animal’s belly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia time! Trained tracking dogs can follow scent trails that are up to twelve days old! Newer trails are obviously better, and damp grass will hold a scent better than concrete or stone, but wind and sunlight can ruin the trail. Under the most optimal conditions with the best dog, you can even follow a trail that’s months old.
> 
> Thanks to Stefan Bathory for assisting with my question about Voldemort’s name translation.
> 
> LokiFirefox – Ron can learn from his mistakes! :) It took a while, but he’s getting there.
> 
> BONUS! There will be an extra chapter posted as a Christmas present on the 24th of December (or as a Happy Saturday present for those of you not celebrating it), and one or two new fics as well. So keep an eye out for them!


	14. Those Who Do Not Know History...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes plans for the Yule holidays, goes to the third set of Potter Watch meetings, visits the Chamber of Secrets, and sneaks into Hogsmeade and beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, or a Happy Hanukkah, or a Joyous Yule, or a Happy Saturday to all my readers. :) Here's a bonus chapter for you! And two new HP fics are being posted today too. Enjoy!

**_December 1993_ **

The rest of November passed quickly, and with the pressure off to use weekends for constant studying, Harry could relax and enjoy going to all three of the second set of Potter Watch meetings that were held on the fourth Sunday of November. Percy was happy to have him there to help teach the junior group how to perfect their Knockback Jinx. The middle group worked on the Shield Charm under Harry’s guidance, and the senior group (that Harry attended as a fellow student) worked on the Patronus Charm. So far, they hadn’t had any major problems, unless you counted a bit of movement with a couple of students quitting, and a few new ones joining.

Harry got a depressing letter from his Aunt at the very start of December, telling him to stay at the school over Christmas and that he shouldn’t “dare” to come home if that “horrible madman” hadn’t been caught yet. He moped around all week, and complained quietly about it to Neville. He put his name down on Professor McGonagall’s list of students staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, when she said she wouldn’t let him go off on his own to hide out from Sirius Black. He’d thought it was worth asking, but she was sternly unpersuadable on that point. But then Neville brought him some good news.

“Gran says you can stay with us for Yule!” he announced happily, waving a letter in the air.

“Brilliant!” said Harry happily. “Are you sure it’ll be safe?”

“Absolutely. Your last stay with us went pleasantly enough, didn’t it? And Black’s been loitering around Hogwarts – so Longbottom Manor should in fact be significantly safer than here, where you may be at more risk in a partially deserted building!”

“I can’t argue with that logic!” said Harry, impressed. 

But Professor McGonagall could. She took exception to the plan to remove himself from the list of students staying at Hogwarts and go to the Longbottoms’ without consulting a teacher about it, and marched him to talk it over with the Headmaster.

“I don’t see why I need to get this approved,” he complained. “It’s really just up to me, and the Dursleys, and I’m sure they wouldn’t have a problem with it. They _want_ me to stay with wizards while Black is after me.”

“That as may be, but you can’t go making up madcap schemes willy-nilly,” objected Professor McGonagall. “Your adventures over summer caused us all some distress. So let’s just see what Professor Dumbledore thinks of your suggestion.”

“It’s not a suggestion, it’s a plan,” grumbled Harry. At least she would be escorting him there, and not abandoning him to talk to the Headmaster on his own. That was something.

Professor McGonagall explained the situation to the Headmaster in his office, while Harry stood by nervously, glancing at the paintings of old Headmasters (it was both interesting, and a plausible way to easily avoid eye contact with Professor Dumbledore while he tried to calm his mind). It turned out that Headmaster Dippet, who was in charge of Hogwarts before Dumbledore, was born way back in 1637! And he died in 1957, according to the small plaque at the bottom of his painting. Three hundred and twenty years old when he passed away – Ambrosius would be glad to learn that snippet of information at last. Harry nodded a polite greeting to the portrait of his ancestor Phineas Nigellus Black, who looked interested to see the shimmering rainbow serpent draped around Harry’s neck.

“Your snake, young Potter?” he asked, with irrepressible curiosity. Harry moved over to talk to him.

“Hello sir. Well, I am a Parselmouth – everyone knows that now. Storm here was a gift from Pansy Parkinson, of the Sacred House of Parkinson.”

“Ah, those upstart Houses jealous of those with _real_ titles, who made up their own!” he sneered. “It is neither an Ancient nor a Noble House, but it _is_ a fairly reputable pure-blood line. My granddaughter Medea married into the Parkinson family.”

Harry thought for a moment before responding, “I believe that would be Pansy’s grandmother. I’m not sure if she’s still alive, but I know Medea’s husband Trophonius is.”

Storm was disinterested in their conversation, being distracted by the tempting vision of Dumbledore’s phoenix, Fawkes, who was perched nearby. “ _The ssspecial bird lookss very tasty, but too big to eat. Maybe next year if I grow more. Do you think it has any eggss?_ ” speculated Storm.

Harry spun away from the portrait to look worriedly in the phoenix’s direction where it sat on a perch preening its feathers, thankfully unable to understand the language of snakes. “ _You can’t eat Fawkess! That phoenix belongss to the Headmaster!_ ” hissed Harry agitatedly.

Storm hissed impatiently, “ _I won’t. I want to eat its eggss. Weren’t you listening to me? You should pay more attention to me when I’m talking. Is it a girl bird?_ ”

“Mr. Potter!” said Professor McGonagall sharply. “Would you kindly return your attention to the conversation at hand!”

Harry apologised sincerely. “I’m very sorry Professor, I shouldn’t have gotten distracted.”

“We would like to know why your family recommended you stay at Hogwarts, dear b-”

Harry scowled, and Dumbledore corrected himself.

“-Mr. Potter.”

“They wanted me to stay where wizards and witches could help protect me from Sirius Black, basically,” said Harry, softening the general attitude of “stay away or else we’ll kick you out again” they’d expressed in their letter to something kinder and more normal-sounding.

Dumbledore smiled kindly. “Well, we will certainly do that at Hogwarts.”

“ _You didn’t sssay if the bird has any eggss, yet_ ,” interjected Storm unhelpfully.

Harry tried to ignore his nagging, being much busier with his own complaints right now. “But it was fine when I stayed with the Longbottoms over summer!” Harry objected. “This is no different.”

“ _Ask if it’ss a girl bird._ ”

“Hogwarts was not open over summer, and thus did not have a number of teachers available to protect you. That will not be the case during the Christmas holidays. As I am acting in loco parentis for the Dursleys, who might not be able to send word back in regards to the Longbottoms’ invitation before the Hogwarts Express departs for London, I’m sorry to say you’ll have to stay at Hogwarts. In accordance with what we know of your guardians’ expressed wishes.”

Harry scowled. This was like first year all over again, when the Headmaster wanted him to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas. He had no right. Well alright, maybe he technically currently had the _legal_ right, but not a moral one.

Dumbledore’s cheerful voice dropped to a more serious tone as he responded to Harry’s unspoken scowling objections, “Harry… Mr. Potter. Do not dismiss this proposal of protection so lightly. Several teachers stand ready to confront a madman in your defence, at the risk of their lives. That is no light offer to be so casually disregarded.”

Harry startled, and looked to Professor McGonagall for confirmation, which made Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle. She nodded affirmatively to him. “He’s quite right, Mr. Potter. I would be ready to protect you at all costs.”

Rather taken aback, Harry’s scowl completely disappeared. It might not be what he wanted, but it was a very brave and generous offer, and not the kind of treatment he was used to receiving from adults. “Thank you, Professor.”

“ _Are you even listening to me?_ ”

It didn’t quash all his disappointment, but it did mitigate it somewhat. Professor McGonagall tried to cheer him up as they left the Headmaster’s office with talk of the lovely Christmas feast to come, and lazy days whiled away in front of the Common Room fire. He pretended for her sake that it worked.

Storm sulked all evening – Fawkes was male.

-000-

The second Sunday of December was the third set of Potter Watch meetings. Harry went to the junior meeting first, and helped Percy teach the Leg-Locker Curse ( _Locomotor Mortis_ ) and its counter-spell, from _Curses and Counter-Curses_ by Vindictus Viridian. He also chatted politely with his fans, including Ginny Weasley who was very shy and didn’t say much, the enthusiastic Creevey who more than made up for her silence, and the rather odd blonde girl from the Lovegood family who was in Ravenclaw.

For the middle group of third and fourth year students that he led himself, they continued working on the Shield Charm, and also added a little variety by working on the Disarming Charm ( _Expelliarmus_ ), and the Summoning Charm ( _Accio_ ).

Pansy “accidentally” spilled some books from her bag when everyone was leaving, and lingered with Draco and Millicent so she could seize a rare chance to covertly socialize with him before the senior Potter Watch group arrived. They had a little chat about Millicent’s Quidditch training, how silly it was that Dumblebore would happily let Harry stay with the magically-vulnerable Dursleys but not the Longbottoms, Pansy’s grandmother Medea (who was in fact still amongst the living), how to _properly_ ask politely if someone’s relative was still alive, and how excited some of the Slytherins were that Harry was including them in his Potter Watch club.

“But that’s not a big deal – it’s open to all Houses,” objected Harry.

The girls exchanged a look. “Exactly. Have a look at some of the other clubs, though. You’ll see that Slytherins usually don’t get invited to the clubs, except a few of the study groups with Ravenclaw.”

“The H.E.L.P. Society is open to everyone, though.”

Pansy shrugged. “I suppose. But the philosophy just isn’t particularly appealing.”

Draco frowned thoughtfully.

“Draco? You’re not upset about umm, house-elves?” worried Harry, thinking about the former Malfoy house-elf now in his possession.

He glanced up at Harry. “No, just lost in thought. Do you think you would like to come and reside at Malfoy Manor for Yule? Our wards are above reproach, and I know my parents would be happy to accommodate you. And if you want to claim the technicality, you _would_ be staying with family, since my mother acknowledges you as her cousin.”

“Oh! That’s very kind of you,” Harry said politely. “I don’t think I’d be allowed to, however.”

Draco shook his head sadly at his naivety. “Just don’t _tell_ anyone. Tell the Headmaster your family wrote again, and said you should come home after all, because they’re holding a ball, or something.”

“Oh yes!” said Pansy excitedly. “Don’t tell old Fumble-door. But not a ball. Say that they’re taking you away on a tour of the Continent, to keep you away from Black. That’s harder to check on. You know if you stay at Draco’s, we might be able to visit you!”

“I love it!” said Harry happily. “If you’re sure it’s safe for your family, Draco. But what if the teachers ask to see the Dursleys’ letter?”

“Forge one,” suggested Millicent.

“I think I might,” he said thoughtfully.

-000-

The senior Potter Watch meetings were the most challenging for Harry, and the ones he always looked forward to getting to stretch his abilities in.

Percy had some information to report to the group which interested the seventh years in particular. “You can apparently get bonus points on the Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL and NEWT exams for volunteering to demonstrate advanced defensive charms, and the Patronus Charm is on that list of approved advanced spells,” he reported proudly, to a happy murmur of interest, and a few people crowded around to look at his list.

“How did you get so good at the Patronus Charm, Derrick?” asked Alice. Derrick, Diggory, and Harry remained the most advanced at casting the spell in the group, though others were showing signs of improvement.

“Well, I started working on the spell many weeks ago, after Potter mentioned he thought the school would soon be attacked by Dementors. I wasn’t going to doubt the word of the… Boy Who Lived,” he finished, with a barely noticeable hesitation. Harry suspected he was originally planning to say ‘Heir of Slytherin’. “It’s a simple explanation really – I’ve had more chance to practice than many, just like Potter himself.”

Harry noticed the Weasley twins going into a little huddle with their friend Lee during the practice, and they approached him and Derrick about their idea at the end of the session.

“We heard a rumour about how your Boggart changed into a Dementor-” started Fred.

“-At least some of the time,” smirked George.

“So we were wondering if maybe someone could find one to bring to Potter Watch, so we can all practice sending our Patroni against a de-fanged Dementor?”

Derrick seemed enthusiastic about the idea, and after soliciting Harry’s agreement for the plan, made an announcement to the group. “Messrs. Weasley have engaged Potter’s approval for their suggestion to acquire a Boggart for our practice sessions. As some of you may have heard, Potter’s Boggart is likely to take the shape of a Dementor, which will give us something with a watered down version of a Dementor’s powers to practice on. If anyone in the group knows where we might acquire a live Boggart, or is willing to help hunt for one over… Christmas, please come and talk to me.” People seemed polite about Harry’s fear of Dementors, which he appreciated. However, he did overhear Flint and Farley quietly snickering and speculating about how if it turned into the Headmaster, could they still attack it just for fun?

Over the weekend, Harry forged his note from his aunt. Professor McGonagall was happy to hear that his family had changed their minds.

“I had word from my cousin just in the nick of time,” Harry told Professor McGonagall. “They want me to stay with them for Christmas after all. Isn’t that nice?”

“How lovely for you! I hope you’ll get to enjoy your holiday more now – I know you didn’t truly want to stay at Hogwarts,” she said, which Harry thought was very kind and understanding of her. “But security may be a problem staying with Muggles…” she worried.

“Oh, we’re going to go away overseas for the holidays, so even if Sirius Black comes to Little Whinging it’ll do him no good, for we shan’t be there,” Harry reassured her, with a smile.

“You swear you won’t be sneaking off to go to Longbottom Manor? That you’re honestly staying with your family?” she asked, with suspicion uncharacteristic of a Gryffindor (perhaps borne of her experience dealing with Harry). “I will be checking to make sure you’re not there, you know.”

“I’m happy to swear I’m not doing that – I’ll be with my family. I’ll swear it by Merlin, or the Potter family honour, should you wish it?” That seemed to satisfy her nicely, though she didn’t actually want him to swear by the latter. And it was technically true, after all – he _would_ be with family.

Pansy, Draco and Millicent had promised to keep his plan strictly hush-hush. Not counting Daphne, Tracey, Vincent, and Greg, whom they insisted _had_ to know, in hopes of them being able to visit over the holidays. And Harry said Neville had to know too, of course (though Neville said he wouldn’t visit him at Malfoy Manor).

Harry liked Hermione a lot, and didn’t want to keep his holiday plans secret from her since she was in fact proving more trustworthy this year, being willing to collude in the secret of him using her Time-Turner. He cautiously sounded her out by admitting confidentially that he was not in fact going to the Dursleys’, but was going to stay with another (un-named) wizarding family over Yule. He explained how vulnerable his family would be if Black found them, and also his worries about how Black had been seen around Hogwarts, and then asked her to keep it all a secret. To his pleasure, she didn’t seem to gossip about it to anyone, which boded well for future confidences. Neville as his very best friend got a fuller version including some sad complaints about what the Dursleys had _really_ said more bluntly about not wanting him to come home. Neville was very sympathetic about it, though unsure of what to say to help his friend feel better about things. He did wish that Harry was visiting him instead of Draco, but admitted that his Gran wouldn’t be amenable to any underhanded schemes, and he’d already told her that Harry wasn’t allowed to visit with them (she wasn’t happy about it, but accepted it).

Narcissa Malfoy was entreated by her son to send Harry a formal invitation to stay for Yule, in a discreetly plain envelope, and she obligingly did so promptly a couple of days later. Harry colluded with Daphne for some tips on phrasing his acceptance, and sealed the letter with a blob of wax impressed with the seal from his Heir ring.

-000-

Professor Babbling wrapped up the end-of-class question and answer session, and clapped her hands for quiet.

“That’s it for today, class! If you haven’t fully memorised the Elder Futhark rune set and their meanings and poems yet, be sure to finish doing that over the holidays, as we begin carving practice when you return – remember to bring your tool set to class from now on. We’ll also be working soon on rune translations of up to four runes in combination, so brush up on that if you want to get a head start! And if you haven’t done so already, read chapter six in your textbooks to review the basic tool use instructions for working with soft clay, and wood. I will see you all again in January.”

“So what are you doing for Christmas?” Harry asked Anthony Goldstein, as they packed up their bags and wandered out of the classroom together.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas,” he answered, looking very uncomfortable. “We do… some other special holiday traditions a bit before that.”

Harry smiled – he knew what _that_ meant. “Oh! Well, a joyous Yule to you, then. I’m hoping to join in a winter solstice celebration this year myself,” he whispered confidentially.

Goldstein looked startled. “Really? Oh, I… uh… that’s not my thing either. I’m Jewish, actually. So we don’t celebrate Christmas – I was talking about Hanukkah.”

Harry buried his face in one of his hands, looking almost as embarrassed as he felt as he babbled, “Oh, I didn’t know… Sorry, I’m an idiot, I just assumed…” He really should’ve known better – it wasn’t like Goldstein had showed up to any of the quarter festivals.

“No, I get it, no offence taken,” he said quietly, with a shrug. “I don’t like to make a big deal about it. It isn’t always easy to be different. Doubly so, as a Jewish wizard. Wow, so you’re one of those hidden pagan druids, huh? I never would have picked it.”

“Look, Goldstein-”

“-Call me Anthony, if you like. We’re friends, right?”

Harry corrected himself nervously. “Anthony. If you’d not mention to anyone that I follow the Old Ways, I’d really appreciate it, and owe you a big favour. It’s a bit frowned upon by some – the Ministry has some odd laws against some things, and the Headmaster kind of has a bit of a ban on the old celebrations at school…”

Anthony stopped walking, and turned to face Harry, looking at him very seriously. “Harry, I might not share your religious beliefs, I’m certainly not going to turn you in over them. I’m _Jewish_. My father’s family fled Europe to stay with relatives in America early this century, and as you’ve been raised outside the magical world, I guess you know what _that_ means.”

Harry winced. “Oh, Merlin. That’s terrible… I’m sorry.”

Anthony huffed, and they started walking again. “And _you_ got that right away. If I said that to someone raised in the wizarding world, they’d ask if dad’s family was targeted by Grindelwald, like _he_ was the only threat in Europe. He killed maybe only a hundred magical families and sympathizers, at the absolute upper estimate – about 600 wizards and witches. Voldemort didn’t even reach a quarter of that, maybe less, and that’s including the Muggles. ‘Hitler who?’ It drives me mad sometimes. Our History class here is a joke. A _joke_ ,” he fumed angrily. “Like Britain is the only country in the world, and nothing is more important than tiny squabbles with goblins, and keeping up the pretence that the Christian witch-hunts and the Inquisition didn’t hurt anyone _important_.”

Harry nodded. “You’re right. I wrote about how in fact many people – Muggles – died in the witch hunts for my summer homework essay, and Binns marked it as a Dreadful.”

“I got a Troll for mine,” grinned Anthony.

“Have you ever spoken with Tracey Davis?”

“Who?”

“She’s a half-blood friend of mine in Slytherin.”

Anthony winced. “Did you have to say it like that?”

“Like what?” Harry asked, confused.

“With ‘blood status’ as the first thing you mention, like it’s the most important. Like it was in the war. Why would I even need or want to know about that anyway?”

 _Oh_ , thought Harry. _I never stopped to think about that. I guess I’ve fallen into bad habits lately_. “Sorry, Anthony. I guess I hang out with a lot of…” _Pure-bloods_ , he thought, and then was lost for how to finish his sentence out loud.

Anthony smirked at him, as if the conundrum he was grappling with was obvious on his face. “You could at _least_ list her House first, or describe her some other way.”

“Can I try again from the start?” he asked plaintively. “Like I never said any of that?”

Anthony shrugged and smiled. “It’s not like I can forget it, but if you’re willing to work on not talking like a blood purist that’s great – most people I talk to don’t even see the problem and get offended, or tell me I shouldn’t be so thin-skinned. So sure, try again, Harry.”

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably and gave it another shot. “Do you know Tracey Davis? She’s a friend of mine in our year in Slytherin, and she really loves History, but hates how Binns teaches it. I think you’d like her.”

Anthony nodded approvingly at his revised sentence. “The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I don’t think we’ve ever talked. You’ll have to introduce me some time.”

“Next Potter Watch meeting in January?”

“Sure. Sounds good, if I don’t run into her before then.”

“I’m… I’m not a blood purist you know,” Harry said awkwardly, trying hard not to offend. “I don’t believe someone’s background or magical talent makes them any better. Maybe different, but not _better_ , you know? Are people giving you a hard time about it? Hermione clashes sometimes with… people from magical backgrounds.”

“Yes and no. My mum isn’t a witch, but my dad’s family goes way back – there’ve been Goldstein wizards in Germany and Poland for centuries. Our family was really well known for crafting golems, once upon a time, and we’re related to the Scamanders. So the ‘pure-bloods,’ ” he said, making air quotes with his fingers as he said the word, “approve of dad’s family, and don’t mind that we’re Jewish if we explain how it’s not the same as being Christian, and how we’ve had more trouble from Christians than even regular witches and wizards have, and aren’t at all interested in converting anyone. But they don’t like mum being a ‘Muggle’ – they can’t understand why dad chose to marry her when he could’ve found a nice witch to settle down with.”

“So those with ordinary families are nicer, on the whole?”

He looked a bit uncomfortable. “Mostly. It’s better here than it was at primary school. Some of them… I think they don’t really like me being religious, and they make fun of me for praying twice a day while wearing a yarmulke and a prayer shawl, that kind of stuff. Meanwhile my mum gives me a hard time because it should be _three_ times a day. I just can’t win. Anyway, I don’t think they mean any real harm, but I still don’t like it.”

Harry didn’t really understand everything he was saying, but frowned at what sounded like bullying behaviour. “Anyone I know?”

“No I don’t think so. It’s just some older students in Ravenclaw. They’ve stopped, pretty much. People are used to me now – it’s been a couple of years and they’re over it. Don’t worry about it.”

-000-

Harry headed off to the library as he did every afternoon when his and Hermione’s last class of the day didn’t match, to covertly pick up the Time-Turner from her after she’d finished her second repeat of the afternoon. They were hiding it inside a roll of parchment when they passed it back and forth, which drew no attention at all.

Harry nipped off to the boys’ bathroom on the Fourth Floor near the library, which held the secondary secret entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. It made sense to have an extra entrance – you couldn’t have male Heirs nipping into the girls’ loo all the time. Waiting until the bathroom was deserted, he hissed at the wall behind the cubicle at the end with the toilet that didn’t ever seem to work properly, waited for the wall to sink down to expose the tunnel, and snuck into the Chamber. With no chance at all now of being spotted using the device, he happily gave the Time-Turner a spin. Four turns of the miniature hourglass later, and time was rewound back to lunchtime, with hours of uninterrupted study time ahead of him.

On his usual schedule, after his studying he’d have a four hour nap in Salazar’s quarters, and then at around eight o’clock he would do another rewind of time, to rejoin his friends out in Hogwarts around four o’clock for the afternoon and evening. The third and final time he used the Time-Turner for the day was usually around midnight, preceded by sneaking out of the Gryffindor dorm (under his invisibility cloak if necessary) with Storm in tow, for an eight o’clock to midnight studying binge down in the Chamber again. It was delightful! He wasn’t struggling to keep up with all his subjects anymore, with a whopping eight extra hours of study time per day.

“ _Greetingss, Heir_ ,” said several snake statues as he passed. “ _Welcome again._ ”

“ _Welcome Ssscion_.”

“ _Welcome Heir.”_

Harry really enjoyed their friendly hissed welcomes as he made his way through the main chamber (noting to himself in passing that he really _should_ find some spells to clean up that murky pool), and down to Ambrosius’ hidden chamber.

Harry was starting to settle in to using Salazar’s old chambers, but was a little hampered by a lack of funds. Still, the old bedroom now had a pile of blankets and pillows, and some pieces of wood. Harry transfigured the wood and one of the blankets into a camp bed before each nap – the transfigurations didn’t last forever, but they were long enough for his purposes. The blankets had been eagerly fetched by Dobby from Potter Cottage to the Gryffindor Tower one evening, and then Harry had shrunk them down to smuggle them discreetly into the Chamber of Secrets. He’d also had borrowed a desk, a chair, and a bookcase from one of the many old abandoned classrooms around Hogwarts, to outfit the study with the bare basics for a decent studying environment. He wondered if it counted as stealing – maybe the Dursleys would think so, but he liked to think he’d just _requisitioned_ them. It wasn’t like they had _left_ Hogwarts, after all. If he ever managed to stumble across a storage room with spare beds while he was exploring the castle he planned to ‘requisition’ one of those too. And maybe some rugs, to make things look more homey.

The bookshelf held most of his correspondence course textbooks, spare parchment, quills and ink, and one whole shelf full of snacks. He’d found a good cooling charm in his book _One Minute Feasts - It's Magic!_ which basically created the magical equivalent of putting food in a fridge – it made a surface chill the air around it. He re-applied it each day to the shelf, but was hoping to figure out how to enchant it permanently once he was better at Ancient Runes. Harry grabbed some fruit and a leftover roast chicken leg cached from yesterday’s dinner, and re-stocked the shelf with a roast beef sandwich and some jam biscuits, which he’d taken from the table at lunchtime and hidden in his bag.

After his quick snack he worked for a couple of hours on his maths homework, jotted down some science study notes for Dudley, and finished off an assignment for Charms. Harry had slowly weaned Dudley off expecting too much help, but he was still sending him study notes, and occasional suggested outlines for big projects. The combined owl and regular mail system was rather slow, and by the time Dudley got a response about homework it was often already overdue, so he’d given up on nagging for help with that part of his schoolwork earlier.

Sealing up some envelopes for Dudley and for Oxford Home Schooling with a happy sigh, he stretched leisurely, and got to work on his own personal study project. Currently he was working on mastering a healing spell for broken arms, “Bracchium Emendo”, which he practiced on a chicken wing bone. After half an hour of work on that, he glanced at his dad’s fob watch and decided he had an hour to spare to go and have a chat with Ambrosius before he was scheduled for a nap.

He took his red leather journal and a quill, and headed into the secret room. Being bitten _again_ on the way in by that little statue that insisted it had to check how he tasted _every single time_. He’d gotten quite adept at the Episkey healing charm as a result of repeated practice.

He tapped politely on the mosaic’s frame to wake the old wizard up, and sat down in the chair for a bit of a chat.

Ambrosius stirred and sat up on his klinai, one of the reclining couches in his mosaic.

“Hello again! It’s still December, it’s been only a day since I last visited,” Harry started. Ambrosius always wanted to know roughly what the date was, and seemed to find it a little distressing if too much time slipped by between visits, though he hid it well.

“Greetings, Harry. I suppose you’d like to continue our discussion about disguise spells?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind. It’s only a couple of days before the Hogsmeade weekend, and then I’m off on holidays for Yule for two weeks and won’t be able to visit.

“Before we get started on that, though, could you tell me if you know under what conditions Custos will wake up? If an adult tried to kill me, do you think she’d know, and come find me?”

“No. She will wake only for a breach in the walls – that’s where the wards are that her lair is linked to. Of course, you could always visit her hideaway and just ask her to wake. I believe she’ll be roused automatically when her lair entrance is opened.”

Harry nodded.

“Well now that’s established, let’s see how you’ve been going with your practice with my glamour charm.”

“ _Transfigallasso contego krupto obdurestikos!_ ”

Ambrosius looked unimpressed. “Hmm. It’s just not working at all.”

Harry sighed. “Do you think it might be because I can’t easily tap my wand on the ground? Is the staff tap on the ground an intrinsic part of the spell?”

“It shouldn’t be necessary. You gain enough magical power channelled through your modern wand without connecting to the magic of the earth directly.”

“Am I saying it right? It’s so _long_.”

“The rhythm is right. Some of the syllables don’t sound quite how I’d pronounce them myself, but that doesn’t really matter. If it’s too long and you’re not connecting with the meaning of the spell, how about trying another incantation? Something shorter?”

Harry brightened up. “That sounds good. What is it?”

Ambrosius stared at him blankly. “That’s up to you. What do you want it to be?”

Harry stared puzzledly back. “You can’t just make up spells.”

“Of course you can.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes you… Where do you think spells come from? Someone has to create them. The words themselves aren’t critically important. They’re a key to trigger an association in your mind with the desired effect, and the type of energy required, so that with practice you can almost instantly draw forth your magic without hours of ritual preparation. It should be doubly easy for you, with the modern tools of wizardry at your disposal. A phoenix feather _core_. Ingenious!”

Harry pondered the matter for a moment. “So I could just make up a new incantation, like ‘Face change’, and it would work?”

“Incanting a spell in your mother tongue or indeed any pure language is unwise. You don’t want to accidentally draw forth your magic in the middle of a conversation.”

“Is that why spells are almost never pure Latin? There’s always something else mixed in?”

“Precisely! Though Latin is the base for many spells as even in my day it was well in decline, and not used for everyday speech. However, as it was often understood by the more educated, it was an excellent choice as a base language for incantations, as the _meaning_ of the words would be understood and easily connected with.”

“Do you think I could make up a spell that’s a mix of say, Ancient Egyptian and French?”

Ambrosius nodded. “Hypothetically. You’d want to get the syllable balance and emphasis right, of course. They cover that aspect of spellcasting in Arithmancy these days, or so the last Heir told me. Tom made up a couple of spells of his own, you know. Based in Latin, of course.”

“Alright, I guess I can give it a try.” Harry scribbled down some possible incantations, before picking one he liked best. “How does ‘Transforto lavultus’ sound? Transform visage, based off Latin with a little French and English mixed in?”

“No, you’ve got too many rising tones in there, it’s too light and airy. The words themselves aren’t crucial, but the pattern is important. You should work with the pattern already ingrained in your mind by now – that you need grounding tones for a more sustained spell duration. Some say that the use of particular patterns by generations of wizards has shaped magic itself. But enough philosophy. Try Transvorto for the first word instead. The matching number of syllables in each word should work well, however, I’d change the second word altogether, keeping in mind that an even number of syllables works well for a charm. Consider adding a new wand motion – perhaps a wave of your wand rising up from the ground to the top of your head. I think that might work well with that incantation – better than the stabbing gesture you’ve been using so far. That’s more for spells where the energy should be focused outwards away from your body.”

Harry brainstormed some more, scribbling down some possibilities. “Transvorto visagus. How about that? Six syllables, kind of more grounded sounding?”

“Very promising. Give it a try. Remember to focus clearly, and that it’s an illusory charm, not a transfiguration. Draw the energy up with the wand, washing over your hair and skin. Picture the result before you cast.”

Harry spent a few minutes thinking about the exact result he wanted. Light brown hair, scar hidden, blue eyes, and a smaller nose like Pansy’s. The effect sliding over his skin with a cold trickling feeling, like the Disillusionment Charm did. “ _Transvorto visagus_!” He twirled his wand in a circle like he would for the Disillusionment Charm, but starting with a downwards focus as if drawing energy up from the earth to the top of his head so it was more like a spiral.

He felt like it maybe worked, and asked Ambrosius eagerly, “Well, do I look different?”

“Blue eyes, no scar, well done!”

“That’s great! Do I have brown hair? A small nose?”

“No, I’m afraid not. And of course it’s faded now – it didn’t last long. But that was superb work, all the same! Either you’ve got a real gift for Charms, or that wand of yours is helping immensely. Ah, one of my greatest spellcasting achievements, re-created in minutes by a young boy.”

Harry himself was less impressed by his fleeting success. “It’s faded already?” he asked disappointedly.

“Yes, it only lasted a few breaths. But if you keep at it you should have it mastered in a month or two, I’d wager!”

Harry sighed. “That’s not soon enough. I suppose,” he mused reluctantly, “I could experiment with Metamorphmagus abilities. I might be a one, you see. I haven’t wanted to try using any potential powers, in case I get stuck.”

“Well now! You’re full of surprises today, aren’t you! I don’t suppose you already know how to turn into an animal, too? Do they teach that at Hogwarts now? By the time the school was formed it used to be the province of only the most skilled and experienced adult wizards and witches, and then attempts were only ventured by those with natural talent in the area of self-transfiguration, or who felt a great spiritual kinship with animals.”

“You’re an Animagus? I know Professor McGonagall can turn into a cat, but we only learn the theory at school. They don’t let us practice it – apparently it takes months of ritual effort and mistakes can be deadly.”

Ambrosius perked up a little at hearing that. “Sounds much like it was in my day, then. The talent was even in decline in my day, and few could manage it. Those that did, needed much preparation and a ritual.”

“What can you turn into?”

“A small falcon, about a foot long.”

“That’s awesome! What were the Founders? Were they Animagi?”

“I think the answer to that should be obvious!” he said with a laugh. “How do you think they picked the animals for their coat of arms?”

“Oh! Tell me, how could Gryffindor be a lion, if he’d never seen one? They don’t live in Britain.”

“Magic, I suppose,” said Ambrosius, highly amused. “He’d read of them, of course – in old Roman records of gladiatorial contests, and bestiaries. Oh, I remember he came in for such a teasing from Salazar about having the animal that was on William the Conqueror’s blazon - two golden lions passant, the symbol of the Duchy of Normandy! They kept lions imported from Africa at _The Royal Menagerie of England_ at the Tower of London from the start of the 13 th century onwards, you know. I’m not sure exactly when it started, but I know by the time of King John they had lions and bears. One of Salazar’s descendants visited it – he was very excited to tell me all about it. So lions weren’t totally unheard of, though Godric had never seen one, besides himself. Is it still there?”

“Cool,” said Harry, and scribbled it down in his journal. “And no, there’s no menagerie there any more – they closed it and sent the animals to the London Zoo.”

They chatted about the London Zoo for a while, and Harry told him about talking briefly there with the boa constrictor, and how much it had worried him back when he didn’t know about magic. Ambrosius thought it was very odd no-one had visited him at all to teach him about his powers when he was younger.

“It seems a very odd way to manage things. I would have ensured you were fostered with a magical family, had I the oversight of the matter.”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably and changed the topic. “Hey Ambrosius, was Rowena a raven or an eagle? I hear students debating that sometimes.”

“Eagle. The ‘raven claw’ describes the black colour of her eagle form’s talons. Her plumage was a dark brown, if I recall correctly.”

Harry obediently wrote that down. “Thanks. And what would you say was your best spell creation? Apart from the glamour spell and being an Animagus? Are there some more spells you could teach me?”

“Hmm. You know, I was very good at battle magic, and agricultural and metalworking spells too. I gave Godric some advice on enchanting his sword after he got it made by the goblins. I wonder what happened to it. Hmm. I would say probably my best spell was one that summoned swarms of stinging flies to bite horses. Extremely useful in battle – easily underestimated, it passes for a natural event, and is very hard to counter.”

Harry tilted his head sceptically at him. “I’m not convinced you’re being totally honest with me here.”

Ambrosius smiled secretively. “And do you share all your secrets with me? Trust me unconditionally?”

Harry glanced away uncomfortably. “No. I’ve been let down by too many adults in my life. You could have a secret agenda I don’t know about. Or share my secrets with someone I don’t want you to.”

Ambrosius didn’t seem offended, in fact he smiled at that. “Then we make quite the pair, Heir of Slytherin. For I have been used and betrayed by more than one Apprentice, both in life and in this strange afterlife. I didn’t trust Tom completely either in the short time I knew him, if that is of any comfort to you. No-one should offer their trust lightly – you should ensure the other’s character has been proven beyond question. You keep your secrets, young wizard. Trust without question does engender friendship, but it also is a fertile field in which can grow betrayal of the worst kind.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry nodded emphatically in agreement. “Yes, exactly.”

Ambrosius nodded, and changed the topic. “So, shall I talk you through using your powers, young shapeshifter?”

“You can help me if I get stuck?”

“Not directly, but I’ll talk you through it. Start with just your hair. If it goes wrong, you can just cut it. Hair is the easiest. Many men with the shapeshifting power used to keep their chins permanently smooth and free of hair. A small thing, but very convenient. I of course favoured a luxurious beard, as I aged,” he said, stroking his happily.

“Are you a Metamorphmagus?”

“No, sadly I’m not a shapeshifter. But my father was, and I’ve taught those who were, so let’s begin.”

He coached Harry through changing – how to get in touch with his magic, and focus on his desire to change, picturing his hair growing longer.

By the end of the session Harry had successfully managed to lengthen his hair so it brushed his shoulders in soft waves, and then (with less difficulty) shrunk it back to its normal tidy and smooth state. He’d also mentally come to terms with being a Metamorphmagus, helped by Ambrosius’ unquestioning and matter of fact acceptance. It wasn’t such a rare thing for a wizard after all. When Harry worried about it aloud, Ambrosius said it used to be quite common, being a shapeshifter, with at least one in ten having the ability to some degree. It was quite normal, really. Being able to turn into an animal (or even a tree) was apparently rarer, though much admired, as your first change held a large element of danger – a lot of things could go wrong, including being stuck for good in your alternate form.

Ambrosius’s glamour spell (that he was very proud of) was a great innovation that let those without the skill of shapeshifting imitate what their more talented brethren did as naturally as breathing.

A few more practice sessions, and he’d be ready, Harry vowed.

-000-

Harry gossiped to Neville, and no-one else, about his plan to sneak out to Hogsmeade (and from thence in search of a Muggle town) on the last Saturday of the term.

“If it works, and it’s safe, and I don’t get caught, I’ll take you with me next time,” he promised. “If it fails I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

“You don’t think the Dementors will notice anything amiss?” worried Neville.

“No, because I’m _not_ going to use my invisibility cloak or any charms until I’m well away from the border they guard. I’ve got a spell to disguise my face a bit and mingle with all the students going to Hogsmeade, and then split off after that. And if something _does_ go wrong, I’ll cast a Patronus, and then fly as fast as I can for Hogwarts. A detention would be better than getting my soul sucked out.”

Harry hesitated a moment, thinking about his friendship with Neville, before coming clean. “No, to be honest… it’s not actually a spell. I mean, there _is_ a spell but I’m not very good at it, so the disguise is, well… I’m kind of… a Metamorphmagus.”

“Wow!” Neville said, looking very impressed.

“You don’t think it’s Dark, or weird?” worried Harry.

“No, Harry,” soothed Neville. “It’s not like being a Parselmouth. It’s more like being able to Fly, or being a Seer. It is a wondrously rare talent, but no-one thinks it’s evil.”

“I’m sure it’s not _that_ rare,” muttered Harry.

“Just like being a Parselmouth was no doubt quite common and ordinary?” teased Neville.

“Precisely!” said Harry with a laugh. “But all the same… keep it to yourself?”

“I will.”

Lacking the Time-Turner on weekends to provide a convenient alibi, Harry made sure he was seen scowling as the students left for Hogsmeade, and announcing his plans to spend the day reading or studying. Hermione sympathetically offered to pick some stuff up for him, which was appreciated as he wasn’t sure his shapeshifting would hold up well enough to explore Hogsmeade without being recognised. He gave her a short list of Yule gifts he wanted picked up for various friends, and some galleons to cover the expense. Then he snuck off to a nearby bathroom, concentrated on changing his hair and face, and checked in the mirror that it was working as intended. Now he had blue eyes, sandy brown curly hair covering his scar (that had stubbornly resisted changing), and a vaguely different nose. Fantastic! He realised though that the glasses might give him away. He wasn’t game to try transfiguring them to a different shape in case he ruined the lenses, but a quick mutter of “ _Colovaria_ ” applied the Colour Change Charm on the frames and changed them to dark green, which made them look quite different.

Harry watched the crowds being escorted out to Hogsmeade, and picked his time carefully, walking along with some older students, who’d probably be uninterested in talking with younger students, and not bothered by seeing an unfamiliar face. He was curious to explore Hogsmeade, which did look rather fascinating, but he was on a mission. And very wary that his shapeshifting might revert without him noticing, despite his practice. It did have a tendency to revert to his preferred tidy black hairstyle if he wasn’t concentrating.

He wandered into the woods bordering Hogsmeade, consulted his map, and cast a Warming Charm while he got changed into some trousers, a shirt, and a vest, and shoved his folded black robes into his backpack. His fob watch he put in its special vest pocket, on one side, with the double Albert chain looping through a buttonhole, and the fob weight of his Gringotts key and his Heir ring in the pocket on the other side. A red jumper went over the top of it all, to hide the oddness of it from Muggles. He then got his broom out of his backpack and unshrunk it. Apparently you really shouldn’t shrink magic brooms if you wanted to keep them in top professional condition, but they _would_ cope alright with it. He cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, and then wrapped his invisibility cloak all around his broom before hopping on it. The broom should be invisible to Muggles, and he himself should blend in with the sky like a flying chameleon. Hopefully.

Whizzing across the sky was really a great deal of fun, if a little unnerving to look down and not see the broom he was sitting on, or even his own hands. Harry flew south above featureless forest for about six miles, which didn’t take long on a Nimbus 2000, until he reached a proper tarmac road.

“I did it! Civilisation!” he whooped happily, as he saw a car drive past far below him. He followed the road north-east until he saw signs of a town up ahead. Which, if his calculations were correct, should be Grantown-on-Spey. He landed in a small grove of pine trees away from the road, hid his broomstick in the branches of a tree to retrieve later. He picked a relatively distinctive tree with a broken branch, not too far from a road sign, so he wouldn’t lose it.

 _If the twins’ information is correct, I’ll be caught if I cast spells away from Hogwarts or Hogsmeade_ , he reflected, having carefully quizzed the Weasleys earlier on the topic. _So since I reached my destination faster than I thought I would, I’ll have to wait until the Disillusionment Charm wears off._ _The return journey is going to be tough, without any magic allowed except for my broomstick and cloak. I’ll have to walk for a bit, then zip through the trees with my cloak over me and the broom as best I can manage._

It took about an hour but eventually it did wear off, and Harry wandered into Grantown-on-Spey. It was… odd. Jarring. It seemed to him to be quite a small town, about three big blocks wide and six blocks long, with a few straggling houses stretching out the borders of the town, and a pleasant little caravan park. It wasn’t magical and old-fashioned like Hogwarts, nor did it feel as normal as Little Whinging – which was a new, modern suburb with houses all the same like they were stamped out with a cookie cutter onto identical rectangular plots of land. Oh, he could clearly see this _wasn’t_ a magical town like Hogsmeade – the cars were a big hint there, and all the shops were modern, and everyone’s clothes. But along High Street, and along the extra-wide road with strips of parkland in the middle of it called The Square, the buildings were all old stonework – perhaps not the almost-millennia old architecture of Hogwarts, but at least a couple of hundred years old or more, he guessed. Some of the buildings had turrets! The old _Arms Hotel_ looked positively castle-like, and even the little library in the community centre had a tiny turret to one side of the building!

Harry found a red postbox and a phonebooth outside a recycling centre on the Square. Which again was an old stone building – not like the concrete and brick buildings of Little Whinging. He sent off his letters to Dudley and Oxford Home Schooling, and phoned his assigned tutor, who was surprised to hear from him, but willing to chat to him about accelerating his Latin and French course so he could take the final exams at the end of the school year. He usually preferred not to work on a Saturday, but was happy to make an exception for Harry. It _was_ the first time he’d called, after all! His tutor, waxing enthusiastic about his progress, managed to talk him into taking his Maths IGCSE exam early as well, leaving English and Biology for next year. They both agreed the former needed a bit more study if Harry wished to be assured of getting an A (Harry was a bit embarrassed about getting a B last year, despite his best efforts). In Biology Harry was working through the coursework steadily and well, but a bit more slowly compared to Maths. It wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoying Biology, the problem was in fact quite the opposite. It was simply that he had a tendency to get side-tracked and started looking up magical books to see what wizards thought about different aspects of biology. Harry promised his tutor he would complete the paperwork and send it back promptly, as apparently applications for taking exams in summer needed to be done by February.

After his productive consultation was completed, he went exploring. Being in Grantown-on-Spey felt more jarring than when he went home for the summer – that was going back to the “normal” world. But here it was this odd blend of old architecture and modernity, and it reminded Harry a little of how he felt himself a lot of the time – not quite one thing or the other.

He browsed the shops for a while, getting a feel for the place, and telling anyone who asked that his aunt and uncle were shopping elsewhere. He got a bunch of sweets from _The Candy Box_ for Yule gifts for friends and acquaintances, and stopped in a pet store to buy some little goldfish as a present for Storm. He didn’t have to get a tank, thankfully. When he promised he had a tank at home he could get them to soon, they were happy to sell the fish secured in a plastic bag with some water and air trapped inside it like a fish-filled balloon.

Feeling a bit peckish, Harry found a Bangladeshi and Indian takeaway, and bought a takeaway Indian butter chicken curry and rice – exotic cuisine to him which he’d never tried before. For it was never on offer at Hogwarts (where roasts ruled almost every meal except breakfast), and at home Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had always disparaged a lot of foods as not being properly British (though Uncle Vernon didn’t usually say it as politely as that). It was a bit spicy, but good, and Harry ate it on a park bench in the middle of the Square, and just watched everyone go by. Living their normal, ordinary lives. All of them unaware that he had a magic wand and an invisibility cloak in his bag. That he was Heir to a Noble wizarding family.

He guessed it would be a bit odd, to give magic up for good. He used to wish he could. But not anymore. He couldn’t close his eyes to the secret world beneath the surface. Whether it was ugly, or wondrous, it was an integral part of his life now. And after all, the Muggle world had its flaws too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ambrosius’ glamour charm is based off a mishmash of Latin and Ancient Greek words supplied by online translators. Since I don’t want it to sound accurate, mistakes are fine. The original words I used for inspiration are:  
> Latin: Transfiguro contego corpus obduresco  
> Ancient Greek: Allassō khrōzō kruptō paredreutikos  
> English translation for the above words: Change form/appearance, hide (by covering), physical body/body’s surface, be persistent.  
> Harry’s incantation is based off: Transverto vultus (Transform/transfigure, countenance/visage in Latin), and then based off visage (English/French).  
> Ainulinde – thanks for being my beta for my scene with Anthony.  
> Guest asked if students could self-study for “Ghoul Studies”. The books aren’t available in the Hogwarts library anymore, and testing for the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams isn’t currently offered by the Ministry. So you’d be doing it as a hobby, not as a subject. You could get books and lesson notes from the older generation, if you were keen! It’s been mentioned a couple of times to show a bit of Hogwarts history, changes in attitudes against “Dark” subject matter, and interests of characters (including someone subtly feeling Harry out on how he feels about Dark stuff).  
> Guest also asked if Dobby could teleport Harry to Grantown-on-Spey, or make him pizzas. Good questions! The former may be technically possible, but Harry doesn’t know house-elves can teleport people through the anti-Apparition wards around Hogwarts (or even take people with them in the first place). His and Hermione’s studies have only taught him that they can sometimes get themselves through wards (or more precisely, that wards are crafted not to prevent them doing so, as they’re more useful servants when they can pop around). Dobby hasn't learnt how to cook Muggle foods yet, but maybe could in the future.


	15. Yule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry promised faithfully to stay with family for Christmas. So he’s spending Yule with his cousin Narcissa.

**_December 1993_ **

A little misdirection was required the next day at Kings Cross Station, as Harry shook off Percy and Derrick who seemed to be acting as guards (either on their own initiative or perhaps Dumbledore’s direction, he suspected) by claiming to see his uncle waiting for him out in the parking lot. After ducking out of sight for a while, he then returned to the station where the Malfoys (forewarned by Draco) were lingering uncomfortably amongst the crowd of Muggles, waiting for him to join them. They were dressed very formally like they were ready to go out to the opera or a wedding, but otherwise didn’t attract much attention for their outfits. Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be any sign of Sirius Black seizing the opportunity to attack Harry in his brief unguarded moments on his own.

They all retired to a relatively quiet area outside the station, and after a quick muttered charm of some kind by Draco’s father to discourage notice, “Cousin” Narcissa, as she insisted on being greeted, held out her hand to Side-Along-Apparate him to Malfoy manor. Her insistence on re-claiming the relationship warmed a cold place in his heart. It reminded him that he had more family than just the Dursleys. Pansy was still trying to covertly be friends, even in the face of threats of disinheritance, and the Malfoys were willing to host him for Yule even with the full knowledge that there was a mass murderer out for his blood. (Neville had offered again too, but worried his Gran might ruin Harry’s story, as she’d spoken about inviting his uncle and aunt to join them for Christmas dinner.)

Malfoy Manor was a beautiful and imposing three storey building, with a more quintessentially British style of architecture than Longbottom Manor’s Roman-style construction. They arrived in a pebbled area in front of the house, facing the front doors (guarded by currently unmoving gargoyles), and with neatly trimmed yew hedges lining a path that led off behind them to a gate far off in the distance. There was the splashing noise of a fountain bubbling somewhere out of sight. Mr. Malfoy gestured at the manor proudly as they stood about recovering from the nauseating sensation typical of Apparition.

“Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Mr. Potter! This estate has been the home of my family for ten consecutive centuries, ever since my ancestor Armand Malfoy was granted the parcel of land here in Wiltshire in thanks for his services to King William the first. The original fortified manor house was almost completely replaced in the Elizabethan Age, with only the cellars and part of the stables still remaining from the first building. The current manor house you see is five hundred years old, and in fundamentals is very little changed from its original construction by the renowned architect Robert Smythson. Of course, various enchantments and wards have been added over the years by members of the Malfoy family, and Master Warders we have employed.”

Narcissa patted Harry’s shoulder gently. “You should be quite safe here, Cousin Harry. Do restrict your wanderings to the manor and to the more formal gardens such as the topiary, and stay out of the woods unless you’re accompanied by myself or my husband. The warding is strongest on the house itself and the immediate surrounding grounds.”

Draco asked worriedly, “What about the Quidditch pitch?”

His mother smiled at him indulgently. “Yes, you can take him there, but ensure your father or I are available to supervise. Don’t cross the boundary wall to the woods, or go through the gate, of course.”

A female house-elf dressed in a stained pillowcase popped by to collect Harry’s trunk, while Mr. Malfoy led them all into the house itself, with the front doors magically swinging open before them without anyone touching them. He kept boasting proudly about his home as they entered the sumptuously decorated large hallway, “The portraits are predominantly those of the Malfoy family of course, and partners who have married into the family. My father, Abraxas.”

The stern-looking portrait nodded to him as his son gestured at his picture, “Greetings, Mr. Potter.”

They moved along, without lingering to talk, and he pointed at another old painting. “One of my ancestors, Brutus Malfoy, sorted into Slytherin of course. Eight consecutive generations of Malfoys have all sorted into Slytherin,” he said, with a glance at Harry. “On the tapestry there, you’ll see our family crest in black, green and silver. ‘ _Quarterly sable and vert, an argent M displayed, two wyverns of the first rampant, two serpents of the second entwined atop three spears of the first and third, a bordure of the first_.’ You can see we have long been proud of our association with Slytherin’s House.”

“Indeed,” Harry said vaguely, distractedly mentally translating the Latin motto from the scroll across the bottom of the heraldic shield. _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper –_ Purity Will Always Conquer. He spotted Draco trying to give him a meaningful look, and took a stab at guessing what he wanted. “It’s a fine House, with a great Founder.”

Draco smiled happily at him, and his parents looked quietly pleased too, so he must have gotten something right. He wasn’t sure if they were hoping he’d declare himself Slytherin’s Heir, or just wanted to hear that despite being a Gryffindor he wasn’t prejudiced against their family’s longstanding House affiliation.

“The carpets on the flagstones here are Persian, of course,” commented Narcissa, as they went through the bronze-handled doors to a simply enormous formal room.

“Wow,” murmured Harry, looking around in astonishment. The dark purple walls held more portraits, and a large gilded mirror hung above a massive fireplace with a marble mantelpiece – you wouldn’t even need to duck your head if you wanted to Floo somewhere, it was so large. A large crystal chandelier hung high above a long, dark wooden table set with over a dozen matching gothic-looking chairs.

“Is this the dining room?”

“This is the drawing room or atrium. Suitable for meetings, or receiving guests. We usually dine in the breakfast room in the mornings, and the dining room for luncheon or dinner,” Narcissa explained.

The tour of the manor went on for _ages_. There were two separate wings to the house, and three storeys to look at, but even skipping past some dull unoccupied bedrooms, it was still a lot to look at. There was a picture gallery full of old paintings (including some non-magical ones), a cabinet room stuffed full of curios and trophies (including a real dragon’s head on a plaque!), a music room, a magnificent ballroom, a duelling room (which was an extremely plain windowless room, with scorch-marked flagstones, and no decorations except masses of candelabras on the walls), and a school room. And one last room that Harry thought would be his favourite – a massive library stuffed full of old books and scrolls.

“Ravenclaw!” teased Draco. “Close your mouth, I think you’re drooling.”

“Draco,” warned his mother.

“You are most welcome to visit the library any time you wish,” Mr. Malfoy offered. “Please make yourself at home while you are staying with us. I hope it compares favourably to your guardians’ library?”

“Oh, they don’t have a separate library at all, there’s barely a couple of shelves of books, and half of those books are in my room. This is _so much_ nicer,” Harry said sincerely. The Malfoys all smiled happily.

Draco enthused about how his father had hired a tutor for Yule, “She’ll be here first thing on Monday to give me some lessons in duelling, and of course you can join in too.”

“What about not using magic over the holidays?”

Narcissa waved a graceful hand dismissively. “Oh, there are exceptions if you have a governess or a tutor registered with the Ministry.”

“But I’m not officially here,” worried Harry. “Won’t I get another letter from the Ministry? I don’t want people to know I’m staying here – I’m officially on holidays with the Dursleys.”

“But I _want_ you to join in!” Draco insisted, with a stubborn set to his jaw and a whine in his voice.

Draco’s parents exchanged a look with each other. “And if there was a… _discreet_ way of ensuring your anonymity would remain intact while you cast spells here, would you object to that? Hypothetically?” asked Mr. Malfoy testingly.

“Hypothetically… no. I wouldn’t mind. So long as I wouldn’t get in any trouble,” Harry said cautiously.

He smiled at Harry. “Then we shall lend you one of the old family wands for the duration of your stay, if you can find one that suits. Please join me in my study tomorrow after breakfast.”

The rest of the evening was spent admiring his guest room, having a fancy dinner of roast goose with Narcissa dropping theoretically discreet constant hints about how to use the cutlery properly, and Harry generally agreeing to all their plans for the holidays. Storm happily woke up for the evening in time to be taken down to dinner, and was fascinated to find he was in a new locale to explore, and had Draco and his parents available to fuss over him. Narcissa seemed to find him particularly adorable, and got Harry to translate a lot of compliments on his beautiful scales.

“Tell him that such a rare and beautiful magical snake deserves only the very _best_ treats to eat, and how he is of course welcome to explore anywhere in the manor he likes, except for the owlery and the garden which might pose a danger to him,” she cooed. “He must stay away from the peacocks, we don’t want him hurt!”

“ _She is my new favourite_ ,” Storm hissed happily, after Harry translated her latest tidbits of flattery and concern.

“ _You have a lot of favouritess_ ,” Harry teased, with a laugh.

“ _I am a remarkable sssnake and deserve many admirerss, and you have excellent taste in collecting perceptive friendss who appreciate me properly_.”

“ _And if you had to choose just one favourite human?_ ”

His tail swished back and forth as he pondered the matter with the serious attention it deserved. “ _Apart from you? I sssuppose if I had to choose just one, it would be the one who sssent the jar of tadpoless for me instead of sssomething boring for you. They were plump and tasty and I was very hungry._ ”

Harry laughed. “ _Millicent._ ”

“ _Yess, that one. I like her._ ”

Mr. Malfoy’s attention didn’t waver for a single moment from Harry’s hissed Parseltongue conversation with Storm – he seemed fascinated. It was rather unnerving to be stared at like that. That much concentrated attention from an adult was rarely good, in Harry’s experience – it was usually safer when you were ignored and disregarded.

-000-

The next morning after a full English breakfast (served by an unseen house-elf, Harry suspected), Mr. Malfoy invited Harry to his study to try out a few old wands. After a discussion about Harry’s wand (during which he didn’t mention its “brother”), Mr. Malfoy quickly set aside the majority of the collection after checking the tags tied to them with string. Most of the wands had unicorn hair and dragon heartstring cores, and a few “out-of-fashion” wands had more unusual cores like troll hair and mermaid scales – he was looking for a closer match to Harry’s current wand.

“Phoenix feather cores are rare, and we certainly don’t have any combined with holly. There’s one holly wand with a unicorn hair core, and three phoenix feather wands fashioned with other woods. Hopefully one of those may suit.”

The holly wand felt all wrong, and none of the phoenix feather wands felt quite right either, but he thought one of them _might_ do.

“Neither the apple wood nor cedar seem like a match, but the blackthorn wand feels alright. I mean, it’s not as good as my holly wand, but I think I can use it?” he said, giving it a swish and levitating a stone paperweight in the air with a murmured incantation.

“Ah, blackthorn, ten inches,” murmured Mr. Malfoy, flipping through a book on wands. “Well suited to a warrior, and for casting… powerful spells. ‘It is a curious feature of the blackthorn bush, which sports wicked thorns, that it produces its sweetest berries after the hardest frosts, and the wands made from this wood appear to need to pass through danger or hardship with their owners to become truly bonded.’ Well, I’m not certain you’ll have the opportunity to bond with my great-great-aunt’s wand unless your tutoring sessions will satiate its need for you to prove yourself, but since you managed the Levitation Charm without too much trouble, it _may_ do as a temporary option.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Please, call me Lucius,” he said with a smile. “It is a little awkward for you to address my wife as Narcissa, yet remain so formal with me.”

“Are we friends, then? Allies of some kind?” Harry asked cautiously.

“Tentatively so, perhaps? We’re certainly moving beyond mere acquaintances, hosting you in our home during a time of trial, are we not?”

“Yes, I suppose we are. I’m hoping you won’t feel any call to… conflicting friendships, should trouble arise?” he asked slowly.

Mr. Malfoy looked at him quizzically, “What precisely do you mean by that?”

Harry hesitated. “Well… you _were_ well acquainted with Sirius Black once upon a time, weren’t you?”

That earned him a very intent stare, before the grey-eyed wizard relaxed back into his chair, as he noticed Harry didn’t seem angry or inclined to throw out any specific accusation. “That is a very personal and potentially damaging question. And I would have thought you had more trust in our family than that, to accept an invitation to pass Yule with us here in the first place.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I’m pretty sure. But it would be nice to be _really_ sure.”

“Confirmation _is_ reassuring, isn’t it? I propose a trade, Mr. Potter. I will answer your question, with complete honesty, if you will do so similarly for one of mine.”

“Tell me your question, first, before I agree,” Harry proposed warily.

“I would like to know if you are truly the Heir of Slytherin.”

Harry paused thoughtfully, and then a little too late realized that hesitating like that was practically giving the answer away already. He winced as he saw Mr. Malfoy’s smile. Yes, he’d pretty much ruined his chance to lie convincingly there. Which made this a reasonable deal for him, really.

“Agreed. But you answer my question properly first – what would you do if Sirius Black showed up and tried to attack me? Would you hesitate to attack him?”

Lucius Malfoy smiled serenely. “On the Malfoy honour, I swear that I would in fact try and protect you to the utmost of my ability, unless my wife or son would be _directly_ endangered by my doing so. I have no longstanding acquaintance with Mr. Black that would make me hesitate to attack him. He and I moved in different circles, and were not at all close – far from it in fact.”

Harry listened quietly, and tried not to look suspicious or skeptical, but to Mr. Malfoy’s perceptive eye the polite charade was obviously not quite convincing enough.

“If you will not trust that much even with my family honour at stake,” he said stiffly, “surely you can at least trust me to act out of self-interested motives. Can you not perceive that Mr. Black has _nothing to offer me_? He is a wanted criminal of notorious and ruined reputation with no connections. You on the other hand are a most promising young wizard of growing influence and notable power, and my son’s friend and confidant. You may also wish to note that should Sirius Black die, it is my hope that Draco may stand first in line to inherit the Black fortune, unless there is a contradictory will that manages to stand up to a robust challenge.”

Harry nodded in satisfaction. _That sounded a lot more convincing_.

“And so to my own question. Are you the Heir of Slytherin as is rumoured? What proofs can you offer of that claim?”

Harry sighed. “I don’t claim it. As such. I specifically deny it, in fact.”

“But confidentially, it is true, is it not?”

“…Yes.”

The blonde wizard smiled with satisfaction at the official confirmation of his suspicions, that his son had hinted in a roundabout way were correct. “And the details? I was exceptionally forthright with _you_ , after all,” he said with smooth persuasion.

That seemed fair to Harry. “Well, I don’t actually know of any family relationship with Salazar Slytherin,” he admitted. “But the Basilisk and the stone snakes in the Chamber of Secrets acknowledged me as the new Heir of Slytherin.”

“And that was because…?”

“Well, mostly it’s because I can speak Parseltongue. It’s how Heirs across the centuries have proven themselves to the snake gargoyles down there – being a Parselmouth seems to only be an inherited talent in the Slytherin line, at least in Britain. Plus I defeated the spirit of Tom Riddle in a battle. Uh, working together with Professor Lockhart, that is. But I think perhaps _you_ would know more about the spirit trapped in the diary than I would.”

Mr. Malfoy winced. “Ah, yes. A most pernicious enchantment.”

Harry frowned at him warily, hand gripping his loaned wand discreetly. “Did you not know what it was? Or did you just not _care_ that it would try to unleash the Basilisk on innocent students and get people possessed and killed?”

“Oh, I knew.”

Harry gasped.

“But that diary was never supposed to reach Hogwarts,” Mr. Malfoy added softly.

“What?!”

They were interrupted by a knock on the study door.

“Dear? Are you two done yet? Master Runcorn is here for her lesson with the boys. She’s waiting in the duelling room now, and our dragon is getting impatient.”

“Later,” murmured Mr. Malfoy, opening the study door so that his wife could whisk Harry away upstairs.

-000-

“She’s a slave driver,” moaned Draco a few hours later, as they lounged on a comfortable green velvet sofa in front of a roaring fire. “She’s worse than you are at Potter Watch meetings. I didn’t get to stop casting spells or dodging for hours. I have _bruises_. Can you believe she made us practice throwing ourselves on the _floor_? I wanted lessons in Defence, not lessons in ‘how to fall over properly!’ ”

Harry shrugged, and reached out to the plate in front of them for another of the soft raspberry jam biscuits that Draco had insisted to his mother were absolutely necessary for them to recuperate from their trying ordeal. “I liked her. It’s a good strategy. If you don’t know the counter-spell or you can’t shield against it – dodge.”

“It’s a cold _stone floor_! There aren’t even any rugs in there!”

“It’s pretty much the same at Hogwarts. I think it was a very practical lesson. Better than Professor Lupin’s.”

“You’re just saying that because you didn’t get any bruises,” Draco scowled. “You’re not suffering like I am.”

“Oh, I’m bruised and sore,” Harry admitted. “But nothing major. Hey, you want me to try a healing spell on you? I’m good at Episkey, I’ve cast it a lot. It’s great for minor cuts and helps speed the healing of bruises.”

“Well, don’t just sit there, hurry up and cast it then!”

“ _Episkey!_ ” Harry incanted, trying to focus his power more carefully than usual, to compensate for the resistance in the wand.

Afterwards, Draco poked experimentally at a sore spot on his arm. “It’s a bit better. Now do yourself.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“But why suffer if you don’t have to? Don’t be such a Muggle.”

Harry frowned at him, but cast the spell on himself anyway.

“Alas, it’s getting too dark and cold now to play Quidditch,” grumbled Draco. “Master Runcorn positively _ruined_ my plans for the afternoon.”

“I thought you _wanted_ duelling lessons?”

“I didn’t think it would be like _this_. I thought I would just get to cast some spells at a dummy, or at her.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, and Draco rolled his eyes at him. “With a Shield up, obviously.”

“I wish she was our Defence teacher,” Harry mused.

“I asked her about that already, for next year. But she’s too smart for that – she said she’s heard about the curse on the position.”

“Someone should fix that sometime.”

“I guess the school’s funds are in too short supply to hire a Master Curse Breaker. Or maybe they already tried and failed.”

-000-

They worked on last-minute Yule invitations that evening, as the winter solstice celebration was on the twenty-first of December that year and fell only two days after Harry’s arrival at Malfoy Manor. Narcissa had to be talked down from her grandiose notions of a “small and intimate” celebration of eighty people due to concerns over Harry’s safety and privacy, as well as the tardiness of the invitations. Eventually only half a dozen of their friends and their immediate families were invited the day before the Yule celebration. The Greengrass, Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, and Bulstrode families all met with Narcissa’s approval.

“What about Tracey?” asked Harry. “I’d like to invite her too, if possible.”

Narcissa looked to Draco for his opinion, who looked thoughtful. “Tracey Davis should be fine, but I don’t know about her parents. I have heard they are both Muggle-born.”

“You are completely certain about the girl herself?”

“Yes, mother. She knows how to keep quiet. She’s trying hard to fit in and learn all our ways. She reads a lot, and takes her lead from Pansy.”

Narcissa jotted down Tracey’s name on the outside of an invitation scroll, with some delicate wording to hint that the invitation was just for her alone. “Are there any client families or allies of the Potters you wish to invite, Harry?”

“Neville can’t come, and Hermione wouldn’t be interested,” said Harry. “Clients… I guess Ernie Macmillan and Peregrine Derrick have been the most persistent along that line. I don’t really know Ernie that well, even though we’re on a first name basis. Derrick and I went fine with tutoring and other stuff – he’d keep a secret.”

“Macmillan you know. Derrick’s in Slytherin, sixth year, and is a Beater on our Quidditch team,” volunteered Draco to his mother. “He follows all the Old Ways without any qualms. He’s a great admirer of Harry’s, and leads the older students in Harry’s ‘Potter Watch’ group.”

“Do you know the family?” Lucius asked, turning to his wife.

She nodded. “I think so. Pure-blood, though not with our lineage of course. The family is in reduced circumstances but they are quite respectable. I believe Julia Derrick does piecework for _Twilfitt and Tattings_ , but I’m not sure about her husband’s employment.”

“They live in Diagon Alley,” Harry contributed, having corresponded with Mrs. Derrick a few times.

“That would no doubt be the family I am thinking of, then.”

“We won’t get in any trouble inviting people for a traditional Yule celebration?” Harry checked anxiously.

The Malfoys exchanged a look, and Narcissa pushed one of the invitations over for him to look at.

_“ **’Tis the Season for Mirth and Merriment!**  
You are cordially invited to attend a small gathering to celebrate the best of the season’s traditions! There will be fine feasting, good cheer, and all our favourite old Christmas carols. Dress robes preferred._

_Tuesday, December the twenty-first_

_At three o’clock_

_Malfoy Manor_

_Wiltshire”_

“Christmas carols?” Harry asked. “Really?”

“There will be singing, certainly,” Lucius said carefully, “but no Christian celebration. The key words in that invitation are ‘traditions’ and ‘old’. Those invited will grasp what is meant, and those bigots in the Ministry who frown upon the Old Ways will have nothing to hold as written evidence against us should any unpleasant accusations be levelled.”

Harry nodded his acceptance, and a certain unspoken tension eased in the room.

Reponses came in swiftly. Most people were delighted to accept their invitations, tardy though they were. However, the Bulstrode and Macmillan families regretfully declined, pleading that they had already made their own plans for the day that they did not wish to cancel.

-000-

Breakfast the next morning was a bowl of lumpy porridge with some butter and brown sugar, and as much fresh fruit as they wanted.

“Mother made it,” whispered Draco apologetically. “First day of Yule, you know.”

“Uh, no?”

Draco blinked at him. “Servants and house-elves have the day off on the winter solstice. Father will even give them a plate of food at the feast this evening.”

“That’s really nice for them! I’m glad they get a holiday. Should I make lunch?” Harry offered quietly.

“Did you have something you wished to say, Draco?” his father asked, giving him a rebuking look for whispering at the table.

Draco smiled sweetly at his father. “Harry was just wondering when we exchange gifts, and I was explaining that this evening at the bonfire would be best.”

After breakfast Harry took a minute to summon Dobby and make sure that he was taking the day off and not doing any work. Dobby was at first rather panicked to have arrived at Malfoy Manor. "Dobby has been a good house-elf!" he sobbed, clinging to Harry. "Please don't get rid of Dobby! Dobby likes his new master!"

Harry patted him on the back reassuringly, and said, "No, it's alright, you're an excellent house-elf, and I'm not giving you back. I just wanted to make sure you were taking the day off work, since it's Yule. And I saved you some fruit, in case you wanted a snack? I didn't want to neglect you or skip any of the traditions."

"Master Harry is too kind! Dobby promises not to work today, and will eat up all the fruit," he said gratefully, wiping his eyes on his toga before popping back to Potter Cottage with his gift.

Harry was still keenly hoping to seize another chance to talk privately with Mr. Malfoy, or Lucius as he now insisted on being called, but they were busy for hours with Master Runcorn doing more duelling training, then got a chance to grab a quick lunch of bread, cheese and cold meats before they were hurried into bathing. Narcissa insisted they had to be quick about it and get changed into their dress robes before guests arrived for the solstice celebration. Harry hinted (without as much discretion as he thought he was using) that he was looking forward to seeing what new clothes the house-elves would be wearing, earning Narcissa’s startled pronouncement that they would at least be wearing cleaner outfits than their usual working clothes.

Malfoy Manor had very luxurious marble bathtubs, with all kinds of enchantments to produce scents and bubbles, but Harry thought the bathrooms here weren’t quite as impressive as the ones at Longbottom manor. The manor here was in general much larger and more expensively furnished, but Neville’s home had multiple tiled square baths set into the floor that were so big they were almost like small swimming pools, with water kept at different temperatures. Neville said it was an old Roman tradition that you only found in the most ancient pure-blood manors.

His dress robes met with the Malfoys’ approval, which wasn’t a big surprise since they were the ones he’d gotten tailor made by _Twilfitt and Tattings_ with their birthday gift certificate. They were made of a thick, soft woollen fabric in a deep royal purple, with gold swirling Art Nouveau style embroidery at the edges of the wide sleeves and in a v shaped yoke on the chest. A wide black belt decorated with loops of golden embroidery and dotted with tiny amethyst beads went around his waist, and Draco showed him how to secure it with a simple decorative knot.

As they trooped downstairs Harry admired the decorations that had gone up. Mistletoe was put up above some doorways with loops of red ribbon, and branches of greenery were laid atop some of the mantelpieces. The big tree in the drawing room looked odd. Not like an ordinary pine tree you used for Christmas. Actually, the Dursleys preferred a plastic tree, but Harry knew what they were _supposed_ to look like. This one was a conical shape, and had tiny little pointed leaves on the branches, but it didn’t look quite right somehow. Little fairies flitted and perched amongst the branches, twinkling brightly and making it look very magically beautiful.

“It’s not a pine, is it?” he asked Narcissa.

“It’s a yew,” she explained. “More traditional. It symbolises death, and the Otherworld. It also reminds us of Yggdrasill, the world tree.”

“I thought that was an ash?” He’d come across it while looking up the giant snake Jörmungandr in the Hogwarts library.

“No, it is definitely a yew.”

“Is Yggdrasill a real tree, hidden somewhere from Muggles?”

Narcissa looked thoughtful. “Not that I’ve ever heard of, but perhaps! Many old legendary places of our people like Avalon and Atlantis have been lost over the ages. Most put the blame on the guardians of those sanctuaries being slaughtered by the Muggles, so that with no way left to travel to them they were forgotten.

“The old tales tell of many other worlds one can travel to - the world tree is supposed to be one way of reaching them. Whether that is a literal truth or symbolic metaphor, I cannot say. Perhaps it is because sometimes when a Seer focuses on their Inner Eye while sitting near a yew tree, they can catch a glimpse of those other realms. In any case, as well as prompting us to think about such matters, the yew is also a nice reminder of survival in the bleakness of winter, the afterlife in the Summerland that awaits our kind, and the mix of beauty and poison in the world.”

She gestured to the roaring parlour fire. “The Yule log reminds us of the return of the sun, of course. And lighting it with a piece of last year’s Yule log as kindling reminds us of the cycle of the year. The bonfires serve a similar purpose – remembrance of the return of light to the world. Some families similarly festoon their houses with a lot of additional candles, but that’s not a Malfoy tradition. We just light one each.”

They each lit a candle from the fireplace, starting with Harry as the youngest, and made a silent wish. Harry worried over what to wish for. In the end, he wished for a home where he was wanted. He wanted his family to really appreciate him and want him to live with them again. It was a depressing kind of wish, but he quietly admitted to himself that it was what he wanted most right now that he didn’t think he could achieve on his own.

-000-

The drawing room filled up with guests in the afternoon, and Harry was happy to get to see Pansy and her parents again. Her grandfather Trophonius was with them too.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to make it, given your grandfather’s opinion on the risk of Black being after me,” said Harry quietly to Pansy. “I’m glad you came!”

“Well, he worried about it, but agreed that it was unlikely Black would think to look for you at Malfoy Manor! He wants to speak with you in a minute – he won’t be staying long as he will be celebrating Yule with my uncle’s family. And my parents are under strict instructions to Apparate away if there’s trouble. Merlin, it’s so good to see you again, cousin! It is simply ridiculous that Mumble-bore wouldn’t let you go and stay with the Longbottoms, isn’t it?”

Harry got to meet Daphne’s family next, including her brown-haired younger sister Astoria. “And do you start Hogwarts next year, Miss Astoria?” he asked with a polite smile.

She looked offended. “I have started _already_. I’m a first year Slytherin. I’ve curtseyed and said hello to you twice!”

 _Oops_. She must have been one of the many indistinguishable people who bowed to him in the hallways at Hogwarts when the teachers weren’t around. Harry apologized, but in her opinion it was clearly too late to make amends and she scowled at him for the rest of the evening. Daphne seemed to find it amusing, and didn’t bother trying to mend relations between them.

Trophonius Parkinson smoothed down some imperceptible crease in his long fine white robe as he walked across the room to talk to Harry, but Mr. Goyle unknowingly got in his way. Gregory’s lumpish father bailed Harry up with a barrage of questions about “Miss Granger” (much to his son’s embarrassment), including demanding to know why Harry counted a Mudblood amongst his intimate acquaintances, who her family was, and what her prospects were.

“Young Gregory may not be the Goyle family Heir, but I won’t have him sullying our House by _fraternizing_ with a Mudblood, no matter what the Malfoys think of it!” he growled.

Harry couldn’t say no to the worried, pleading expression in Gregory’s eyes as he wrung his hands nervously over and over again, and did his best to improve his father’s impression of Hermione. He hinted that she _might_ be related to the prestigious Dagworth-Granger family, boasted of her top notch academic and magical skills and aspirations to the Ministry, and reassured Mr. Goyle that his son’s relationship with her was nothing more than a mutually advantageous acquaintance, and was in any case being carefully chaperoned by Draco.

Mr. Goyle seemed somewhat mollified and willing to listen (though still unconvinced) and Lucius Malfoy appeared fairly swiftly after that, nodding to Harry appreciatively as he led the whole Goyle family away for an “important discussion of the evening’s festivities” elsewhere.

Pansy’s grandfather finally got his chance to greet Harry, and after a polite dance of shallow courtesies about each other’s health and reassurances that neither had gotten into too much trouble for casting spells at Privet Drive, they got down to business.

“My granddaughter insists that she be permitted more freedom in pursuing her friendship with you. Naturally I am concerned that this places her at substantially increased risk from Black. Yet she remains adamant that I am damaging her future opportunities for making important social connections, so I must relent in the face of her persistence. However, she must not be alone with you in a group of less than six people. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you must stand ready to guard her should trouble arise and she is unable to defend herself. I have heard you know the Shield Charm? Show me.”

“Well… I would have to use a borrowed wand. It’s not working as well for me as my own one,” he apologised. “But if it helps, Gregory Goyle has seen me cast it a few times. He can vouch for my ability. And I’ve gotten better since then. Oh! And there’s Derrick. Peregrine Derrick, over there with his parents and his little sister. He’s seen me cast it more recently.”

“And if you had to attack Black? The Disarming Charm?”

“Yes, probably that. With the Severing Charm ‘ _Diffindo’_ or the Deboning Spell as a backup if he kept coming at us without his wand, or it didn’t work.”

Trophonius looked impressed. “Incantation for the latter?” he asked testingly.

“Ossio Dispersimus. On his arm if he’s lucky. Ribs if he’s hurt someone,” Harry said determinedly. “It’s not a popular duelling spell so he shouldn’t be expecting it.” He wouldn’t let Black hurt his friends if he could stop it. And if he cast that spell on Black’s ribs, he should suffocate within minutes as his lungs collapsed without the vacuum between them and his ribs to keep them inflated. He wouldn’t be able to breathe or talk to pose a threat in his final minutes. Black would learn you should never hurt the family of someone who’d studied human biology.

“A nice Ministry-approved legal spell, too. You’ve clearly given this some thought. Very well, I hereby grant my approval for you to renew your acquaintance with my granddaughter.”

Harry grinned. “Thank you, sir!”

Crabbe was there with his parents, and an uncle, aunt, and older cousin of his (who looked to be in his early twenties, at a guess). They didn’t seem especially inclined to socialise with Harry, but of course there were plenty of other people to mingle with.

Derrick introduced his parents and his little sister, and Harry introduced Storm to his four-year-old sister Flavia. She curtseyed politely, then babbled excitedly and begged to get to hold his snake. With a hissed introduction for his snake that she was one of his many favourites, the one who’d drawn a picture of him, Storm was draped around her shoulders under the watchful but approving eyes of her parents and brother.

“Ohhh! He’s so smooth!” she said excitedly, patting him gently. “And he’s heavy!”

“He keeps growing – Hogwarts is a good environment for a magical snake to flourish,” Harry explained.

“Does he like me, Harry?” she asked. “He’s so pretty! I love him!”

Her mother gently told her to address him as Potter, but Flavia was stubborn about it. “But we’re friends, mother! We write letters to each other!”

“It’s alright,” said Harry. “You’re all welcome to call me Harry if you wish.” That seemed to make the little girl’s day.

Tracey didn’t show up in the end, and they decided she must not have had time to reply and wasn’t going to be able to make it. As the sun set Trophonius departed for his celebration elsewhere, and everyone else headed outside to the front of the house where some wood was piled up for a bonfire on the gravel. A table was laid out with food and plates – Harry suspected most of the preparatory work must have been done yesterday before the house-elves’ day off.

“Not out in the woods like usual?” asked Mrs. Crabbe.

“We just thought we’d try something different this year,” smiled Narcissa. “We can charm it clean afterwards.”

Harry smiled as he realized they must have altered their usual plans to keep him safe inside the borders of their wards.

All the adults helped light the fire with a spell, and everyone gave a cheer as the flames rushed up in a brilliant blaze, spitting sparks high into the darkening sky. As they sang an old song in Latin about the sun, and linked hands for a dance around the bonfire, Storm (who had been handed back when he got too heavy for Flavia) hissed delightedly at Harry, “ _Finally! There’ss ssspecial magic and sssinging and dancing going on like there should be! Thiss is proper magic! I love it!_ ”

After the dancing was done, there were toasts to be drunk around the fire, and everyone was poured a goblet of mulled cider from a very large goblet that was so big it was almost like a small cauldron.

The first toast was for “victory and power”, the second for “good harvests and peace”, and the third to “Merlin and magic”. After that, people called out for toasts to various departed kinsfolk. Narcissa called for a toast to Harry’s parents, which he appreciated.

“In memory of Mr. James Charlus and Mrs. Lily Potter. A toast please for the Potters and for all others lost in the war who died in defence of their families. They are all sorely missed by those who survive them.” People drank solemnly to that diplomatically phrased toast.

While chatting later with his friends, Pansy and Daphne waved goodbye and wandered off. Harry looked around and noticed that all the witches present (both young and old) had picked up a brass or copper pot and were heading off into the woods, led by Narcissa who’d donned some kind of leafy crown and was carrying a large wooden goblet filled with some kind of liquid. “Where are they going?”

“Well, as we’re hosting, mother’s the Wassail Queen. They’re off to the orchard, of course,” explained Draco.

“I remember reading about that,” said Harry, peering curiously after them. “They’re going to sing to the trees, and offer some wine-soaked bread? And then they’ll bang on the pans and cheer?”

“Mulled cider for the offering rather than wine, but you are otherwise correct. And they’ll offer some wood lice, if they see any Bowtruckles, and raisins for the fairies. We don’t have any dryads here, in fact I don’t know if there’s any left in England at all, so we don’t make those offerings. We learn the traditions when we’re young, even though no-one’s seen a dryad in years.”

“What do you offer a dryad? Fertilizer?”

Draco hesitated. “Of a sort. Pouring fresh cow blood on the ground is traditional, if they’re in tree form. If they take human form, then they can ask for what they want, of course. Sometimes they like soft curds – cheese is quite a novelty.”

Harry thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose it’s not any worse than blood and bone fertilizer. I’ve used that on my aunt’s flowerbeds at home. It’s good to enrich the soil, so I guess dryads would like that too.”

Draco heaved a relieved sigh. “I keep waiting for you to panic about something and denounce it all as Dark. Some of the half-bloods do, when they haven’t grown up with it all. Father will be killing the Yule boar in a minute, to roast over the bonfire coals. Please don’t make a scene.”

“That’s… a bit gross. But I guess I like roast pork as much as anyone,” Harry said pragmatically.

“Well said,” said Crabbe approvingly.

The soft sounds of women and girls singing in gentle harmony came from off in the distance, as Mr. Crabbe floated a magically restrained boar over towards the gathered wizards.

_“Wassail the trees, that they may bear_

_You many a plum and many a pear:_

_For more or less fruits they will bring,_

_As you do give them Wassailing.”_

Panicked squealing drowned out the singing for a brief moment, before Lucius Malfoy slit the struggling boar’s throat with a gold-washed knife. Blood splattered across his fine white embroidered robes, and spilled out onto the ground in a spreading crimson pool. The assembled circle of wizards cheered the sacrificial death heartily.

Harry fought down his nausea and tried to keep in mind that it wouldn’t be any nicer seeing what happened in a slaughterhouse. He looked away towards the shadowy orchard, not wanting to watch the gruesome scene as the men spitted the boar, lit by eerie flickering light from the dwindling bonfire.

 _Think of the crackling_ , he thought determinedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yggdrasill is usually referred to as being an ash tree, but many modern scholars now believe this is due to a misinterpretation/mistranslation of another name for yew – “needle ash”. The world tree is also referred to as an evergreen, which ash is not, but yew is.  
> Trivia time! Every part of the yew tree except the red poisonous-looking arils (the outside of the berries) can make you sick or kill you. In addition to which, it’s said the yew tree can emit gaseous toxins (taxine) on hot days that are thought to possibly cause hallucinations.  
> Thanks to Iron_Dragon_Maiden and WinifredS whose comments led to a repeat appearance by Pansy’s grandfather in this chapter.  
> Thanks to Draeconin for the reminder about Dobby.  
> Anyone with detailed knowledge of heraldry is welcome to correct my amateur attempt at giving a blazon for the Malfoy crest. I’m sure there’s mistakes in it but I gave it my best shot.  
> Malfoy manor is based partly off the canonical descriptions, and also off Corsham Court in Wiltshire, which is a beautiful manor matching the book and movie versions moderately well in size, style, and location. It even has peacocks wandering the grounds!  
> The information about blackthorn as a wand wood is from the Pottermore website.


	16. Gifts and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas gifts arrive, Harry gets an interesting letter from Dudley, and he learns a few secrets from Lucius Malfoy.

**_December 1993_ **

“I can’t believe you beat me to the Snitch!” Draco complained, as he and Harry came in from the cold, shaking the snow off their clothes. Harry hung his cloak on an antique hallstand, but Draco dropped his carelessly on the floor, so Harry hung his up as well.

“Only two out of five times! You still won overall,” said Harry.

“Still. I should have won more decisively. You haven’t even played Quidditch for two years!” grumbled Draco. “I’m practising twice a week, at least.”

Harry glanced worriedly at him. “Still friends, though?”

“Well _obviously_ ,” Draco said, with a roll of his eyes. Harry was relieved. Draco’s ego was rather easily upset when he was outdone at anything, and he’d let him win the last of their five matches just to be on the safe side. The second and fourth matches Draco had won fair and square. Harry had been giving it his all in their duelling sessions to wring the most benefit he could from them, rather than sparing his friend’s feelings, and hoped winning at Quidditch would salve Draco’s touchy, wounded pride.

At lunch they were prompted by Narcissa to work on their homework, and after a little complaining about how he’d wanted to play Snapdragon, Draco grudgingly acceded and they headed to the library. Surrounded by towering bookshelves stuffed full of ancient tomes and fragile scrolls, Harry and Draco worked on their homework diligently.

“What’s your other elective besides Care of Magical Creatures?” Harry asked curiously, taking a break to let the ink dry on his parchment.

“I also do both Divination and Arithmancy. You do Care and Ancient Runes, correct?”

“Yes. Are your subjects any good?”

Draco shrugged. “The Divination teacher is a fraud to rival Lockhart, I think. If she has the Sight it must run in her blood very weakly indeed. It’s very disappointing, but the textbook itself is well-written and instructive. Arithmancy is better, but there’s a lot of homework. It would be my favourite of the three electives.”

Harry worked for a while more before taking another break to chat when he’d finished his Transfiguration essay. “Why doesn’t Crabbe like me? I mean, he doesn’t seem to hate me, but it’s obvious he avoids me when he can.”

Draco looked uncomfortable. “You don’t know?”

“Is it because I’m a half-blood?”

“Well, your heritage doesn’t help. His family is very against intermarriage – even the Malfoys are liberal in comparison. Having to be forced into an acquaintance with Granger if he befriends you is a factor too. But… there is more to it than that. If you really haven’t heard already, then here’s no good way to acquaint you with the details, I think. Might I be blunt?”

“Sure.”

“In the war… the last one with Voldemort. Your father killed his brother.”

“What?!”

Draco didn’t seem to want to look him in the eye, and fiddled with the edge of a roll of parchment, picking at a small tear. “It wasn’t a good time – there were deaths on both sides. It wasn’t like your father attacked a child by the way… if I recall correctly Vincent’s brother was about twenty when he died. He fought at the Dark Lord’s side and fell in battle. Vincent doesn’t even remember him – he was just a baby at the time, same as you. He knows that no blame should be attached to you _personally_ – the Crabbe family isn’t calling for a feud against the House of Potter. But he still isn’t happy about it. And his parents don’t wish to see him associating with you unless there is some driving necessity for doing so.”

“Should I be doing or saying something to him?”

“I really couldn’t say. Father would know for sure. I suspect… probably not? Not unless you are wanting to officially mend the breach to seal a formal alliance of your families, and only the Head of a House can do that. You can’t be that until you’re an adult.”

Harry sighed.

“Just leave it be,” advised Draco, “and maintain silence on the matter of the war. That’s what most people on both sides do unless they wish to provoke a quarrel.”

Things went quiet for a while, and Harry finished revising the chapter in his textbook on rune carving. Then he frowned down at his Transfiguration essay draft, wondering how best to reduce it to an “Exceeds Expectations” standard… and wondering if it was worth the bother. He’d worked hard on his research – why not get the credit for it? The Dursleys wouldn’t know, or care. Hogwarts didn’t even have report cards or anything like it, except for the OWLs and NEWTs. His uncle and aunt might not even let him return to live with them in the summer if Sirius Black was still on the loose. Even if they asked about his grades, he could simply lie about it. Where would he stay anyway – Potter Cottage? Would the teachers find him somehow and drag him to a friend’s house? Would the Dursleys get in trouble for any of it? He scowled crossly.

“Is anything wrong?” asked Draco.

“I dunno. Thinking about lots of stuff. Can I ask you a question? If I got really good grades, how do you think that would change how people acted around me?”

“That depends. Would you lord it over them like an annoying know-it-all? Bargain your services for tutoring or homework completion? Try and establish yourself more as a patron to turn to for assistance due to your exceptional skill? Earn more points for your House by putting your hand up more to answer questions in class?”

“No. To any of that.”

“There probably would not be a lot of difference then. You may get more respect, on the whole. If you were exceptionally powerful it might scare some people, which could work for or against you. Granger runs into problems because she hates to see anyone in class answer a question except for her, not because she knows the answers in the first place. She should be more humble – like me.”

Harry raised an eyebrow sceptically, and Draco grinned at him. “Mayhap I might boast a wee bit, here and there. But you may note I do _not_ raise my hand in class all the time like she does – I wait to be called on. And I never correct people in class unless they’ve specifically asked for my help. Besides, I can get away with it more if I show off. I’m from a wealthy and pur… well-connected family.”

“What if I got straight Os? Hypothetically?”

Draco looked thoughtful for a moment at that. “More people would assume you are the Heir of Slytherin, if you showed off more magical power. You would want to be careful to avoid being seen to publicly act…  Dark. Assuming that you would prefer people not to talk about you being the next Dark Lord. Flawless people are going to be worshipped or hated, so having a few things you’re not so good at would be better if you don’t want to attract attention. Why? Are you about to get straight Os?”

“No, but my grades are going up. I worry sometimes I might lose friends over it. Brainiacs often seem to.”

“Brainiacs? What does that mean?”

“Swots? Bookworms?”

Draco nodded in understanding. “Ravenclaws. Not the most sociable types. Put some effort into maintaining your connections and friendships and act modest about your accomplishments in class and on exams, and you’ll be fine, Harry. I promise you won’t lose my friendship even if you beat me in class, unless you start looking superior and smug when you do so. I must confess I might find that rather provoking.”

Harry left his essay as it was, rather than re-do it. One essay wouldn’t make a big difference anyway, as it was final exams that really counted. He had time to think about it some more before making any irreversible decisions.

-000-

When Christmas Day finally rolled around, it was a bit of a non-event at Malfoy Manor. The Malfoy counted the Yule season as running for three days starting with the solstice, so it was all finished two days before Christmas. They still had the tree up, for appearance’s sake, but that was about it. A lot of presents had been exchanged and opened already at the bonfire, so there wasn’t a big production of opening presents under the tree like Harry was used to at the Dursleys.

At the Yule bonfire, the Parkinson family had given him a large scroll with a copy of the Parkinson family tree on it, including him and Pansy right down the bottom. It came on nice parchment rolled in a tube, and was illuminated with the Potter family crest which was topped with a Hippocampus, and decorated with a glimmering rainbow snake holding its tail in its mouth as the border. A motto in Latin was under the crest – “ _Virtuti fortuna comes”_ – fortune is the attendant of virtue.

 It went back a lot of generations, and Pansy had explained that her grandfather had recently commissioned a researcher to dig through old records in search of a connection to the Slytherin family. They hadn’t found anything conclusive, however, Harry got to reap the rewards of an extended family tree.

Gregory (now “Greg” for Harry), Crabbe, and Derrick (now “Peregrine” since they’d moved to a first name basis at Yule) had gotten him potions ingredients, as Harry had dropped hints that they would be a great gift to anyone who enquired. He’d run out of his own surplus of supplies as he’d been doing some brewing of potions to keep for his own private use, and didn’t want to spend a lot of money on more. (And anything that could get him out of a new influx of cravats would be a bonus.) Flavia Derrick had given him another picture of Storm, which his delighted serpent admired happily.

The Malfoy family had gotten him a new green winter cloak, for casual wear.

“It matches your eyes so beautifully, dear,” Narcissa had cooed. “You should wear green more often.”

Draco had gotten him a new soft leather bag to carry his books in to classes at Hogwarts. Harry guessed it was his quiet way of disapprovingly replacing Harry’s slightly battered Muggle backpack. It was charmed for improved carrying capacity and to be feather-light, so Harry figured he would swap over.

Christmas Eve and Christmas itself saw an influx of a lot of new gifts for Harry. Draco sat curled up in an armchair in Harry’s room in front of the room’s cheerfully crackling fireplace to quietly watch him open them. He’d already badgered Harry into watching him open _his_ big pile of presents – he’d gotten a lot of clothes, expensive chocolates, and dragon-themed gifts.

Millicent’s presents arrived via owl – she’d also sent some potions ingredients for him, and had additionally sent a jar with a few tiny fish in it, for Storm. One fish hadn’t survived the journey and floated belly-up at the top of the water.

“ _It doesn’t matter if one died. There are ssstill many fish left_ ,” Storm said pragmatically _._ “ _What was her name again?_ ”

“ _Millicent._ ”

“ _Millicent. I will remember._ _And she’s the one who sssmell-tastess like cat that we don’t sssee very often now?_ ”

She _did_ have a pet cat. “ _Yess, that would be her, I think._ ”

“That’s for Storm?” Draco asked, pointing at the jar of fish that Storm was eyeing acquisitively.

“Yes, Millicent’s nicely solidifying her position as Storm’s second-favourite human after me.”

“I didn’t think about getting him a gift,” mused Draco.

“Few people do. I guess most people treat him like a pet owl or cat – you don’t buy gifts for other people’s pets. But he’s smart enough to talk to, and has favourite people he likes more than others. Though he’s rather fickle. He likes your mum – he’s very susceptible to flattery.”

Tracey had sent him another interesting history book, _The Fatal Shores_ , all about the treatment of wizarding criminals. She said in her letter that it was the best book she’d found while researching the topic, since they had been talking about Azkaban back in November. She also recommended the wizarding bookstore in Portugal she’d ordered it in from - _Livraria Lello_ – and included a brochure about the store.

“She always gets me books too,” sympathised Draco. “I get her books in return. Makes shopping easier at least.”

“I got her a book as well.”

Daphne sent him a new pointed wizard’s hat, shrunken for postage. “Would you mind unshrinking it?” Harry asked Draco. “It’s not one of my better spells, and I don’t really trust this wand with a spell I’m not good at.”

“Not at all,” he said, obligingly restoring it to its proper size with a wave of his wand and a muttered incantation.

“It’s got a bunch of feathers on it.”

“ _Hawk_ feathers,” Draco corrected. It didn’t make it any better, in Harry’s eyes. Wizarding fashions were odd sometimes.

Harry and Hermione had jointly and amicably agreed to a very sensible gift swap – they’d both gotten each other next year’s Ancient Runes textbook - _Spellman's Syllabary_. He wasn’t the only one who liked to read ahead.

Neville had sent him a small magical water-loving plant with teardrop shaped rubbery leaves to put into Storm’s tank, and a potted aloe vera plant for Harry’s potions ingredient collection.

His assortment of other gifts this year included more sweets and potion ingredients (of varying quality and rarity), and less quills, ink, and cravats than the previous Christmas. Some unexpected notable gifts this year included maroon knitted wool socks and some nut brittle from the Weasley family, the latest issue of _The Quibbler_ newspaper from Luna Lovegood, a book about the famous Healer Paracelsus from Professor McGonagall, a Christmas card from Lockhart with a magical picture of the two of them smiling on the front of it, and lastly a beautiful and friendly snowy owl delivered a present from Anthony Goldstein – a little gift bag of chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil.

“Money?” sniffed Draco disparagingly. “How gauche.”

“No, there’s chocolate inside – look,” said Harry, peeling the foil off to demonstrate. “Aluminium foil, not steel, in case you were wondering.” Draco still wasn’t game to try a Muggle-made chocolate, however.

There were only two presents left to go, from his family. Harry opened the smaller present from Dudley first to reveal a grey t-shirt. There was also a twenty pound note inside a Christmas card, with a letter from him.

“ _Dear Harry,_

_I guess you’re not coming home for Christmas – Mum said it was safest that way. I hope you’re having fun at school and not stuck doing loads of homework. I’ve put a photocopy of my mid-year report card in with this letter. Pretty awesome, huh?! I got a C in Science for the first time! And a C for History which isn’t as good as last time but this time it was all me because you didn’t send me any History notes. I got a B in Information Technology! Dad gave me fifty pounds for good grades._

_My P.E. teacher and my boxing teacher say I need to lose weight. Mum says I’m big-boned and shouldn’t listen to them, and is making all my favourite things for the holidays! She said she’s going to write to the school and tell them off. I asked her not to because it would embarass me but she said not to worry. I think she’s going to do it anyway._

_How are you? Dad’s doing well because he won another contract. Mum’s been in a mood because theres this stupid stray dog that’s been digging up all her bagonias, and making a mess on the front lawn. And it tried to bite her! But she swung at it with a shovel and it ran off. Wicked, huh? We don’t see it every day, but it’s still been hanging around a lot though like it’s looking for it’s home and it’s sure it left it around here somewhere but it can’t find it. Dumb dog. It’s owners probably moved house and left it behind, Mum says. Dad says the council dog catchers should be sacked and what’s the world coming to when dogs run wild in the streets._

_You’re coming back for the summer, right? Hope you like the present – it’s a band t-shirt. I couldn’t find one that was rainbow! I found a rainbow unicorn one and I almost bought it instead, it was so funny because it had glitter on it. But I guessed you can’t help it if some girl gave you a girly-coloured snake for a pet! There’s twenty pounds in the card from Mum and Dad to buy yourself some clothes and notebooks and stuff with._

_Merry Christmas!_

_From_

_Dudley_ ”

Harry unwrapped the accompanying present - Dudley had sent him a grey t-shirt with a picture of a snake on it. It had a picture of an angry coiled up white snake on the front, with fanged jaw agape, with menacing red eyes and hissing tongue. The band name “Whitesnake” was written above the picture in decorative cursive script.

“It might be Muggle, but I like it,” laughed Draco. “That’s from your cousin? He’s got good taste. The money on the other hand… a piece of purple paper with a picture on it? How worthless can you get?”

“It’s not worthless if you can buy things with it. Gold’s only worth something because everyone agrees it is.”

Harry poked the remaining large squashy present suspiciously, while Draco protested the inherent value of gold. Harry had assumed it was a parcel of clothes from his uncle and aunt – it was wrapped in obviously Muggle wrapping paper – bright red with unmoving Christmas reindeers on it. It had even looked like how the Dursleys wrapped his presents – slightly crumpled, like it was re-used wrapping paper from a previously opened present.

“Hurry up, this is taking forever,” complained Draco.

“I thought it was from my family, but it’s not,” explained Harry, turning it over. “There’s no card. Do you see a card?” They rummaged through the pile of discarded colourful paper and ribbons, but there was no lost card to be found.

Harry unwrapped it anyway, and revealed a glossy scarlet leather coat with a scaly pattern.

Draco whistled appreciatively. “That’s a princely gift. A double-breasted frock coat made of Chinese Fireball leather? You could probably get a new broom cheaper than that. We _have_ to find that card.” He dug into the pile of wrappings with renewed enthusiasm, while Harry tried on the coat. It fit perfectly, clinging snugly around the waist, turned cuffs ending neatly at the wrists, and flaring out down from the waist to hang like a skirt ending just above his knees.

“There’s also a soft white shirt with frilly lace cuffs, and a pair of matching red trousers in there too,” Harry added. “Not leather though. Just red linen or something.”

“ _Scarlet_ ,” corrected Draco fussily. “What a simply splendid coat – Mother says I should wait until I’m grown to have something made of dragonskin, otherwise I’ll just outgrow it.”

Even with a house-elf (clad in a pristine new pillowcase) called in to help tidy up, they didn’t find a card or letter to go with the gift, which was puzzling. Narcissa’s rather practical opinion was that either the letter had gotten lost during transport, or that the giver wished to remain anonymous.

“Mayhap the sender wishes to avoid making you feeling indebted to them – a gift requiring no reciprocal present or favour is a doubly generous one,” she suggested.

“I just don’t want to have someone claim credit for a gift they didn’t give,” worried Harry, remembering times past.

“Then if someone does, be sure to thank them for the boots too,” said Lucius.

“But I didn’t get… Oh, I see. Thank you.”

Lucius smiled approvingly. The boy still needed a little more guile and polish, but Lucius was confident he could help make a fine politician of this young man. He was destined for great things.

-000-

Harry had been keen to hear more from Lucius about the cursed diary, but the man had been out more over the holidays than he’d expected. And when he wasn’t, Draco demanded the lion’s share of Harry’s attention. However, a few days after Christmas Draco was called away by other friends to join in a play they were rehearsing to show off to their families. And Harry was kept sequestered at the manor, for joint reasons of secrecy and safety.

Fortified with a plate of sandwiches supplied by a house-elf (who promised she was happy working for the Malfoys), Harry was happily ensconced in the library with an illuminated medieval bestiary, reading up on centuries-old descriptions of magical creatures, when Lucius Malfoy wandered in.

“Greetings, Harry,” he said, with a polite bow. “I hope I’m not interrupting your studies.”

“Not at all, I’m just reading for fun.”

Lucius peered at the cover. “ _Liber de bestiarum natura_. Do you know that particular copy is believed to date to the sixteenth century, and may have belonged to Henry III? The original manuscript dates back to the thirteenth century. I’m pleased to see you can read Latin. So few speak or read the old tongue these days,” he sighed. “Of course, I ensured Draco’s education was not so neglected as to leave him incapable of reading and understanding our older grimoires and histories. Have you found anything of particular interest in there? Draco always loved reading about his namesake dragons.”

“Wow, I didn’t realise it was that old. I’ll be very careful with it, sir.” Harry pushed his plate of sandwiches away from the book and wiped his hands before very carefully flipping the pages back to an earlier section he’d marked with a bookmark, so he could read it to Storm later. “There’s one section I especially liked. I think I might have found a description of the rainbow serpent, which they call the Scitalis.” Harry read it out aloud in Latin.

“Scitalis serpens est vocata quod tanta prefulget tergi varietate ut notarum gratia aspicientes se retardet. Et quia reptando pigrior est quos assequi non valet, miraculo sui stupentes capit.”

_[“The snake called scitalis gets its name because it glitters with such a variety of colour on its back that it slows down those who look at it on account of its markings. And because it is not a keen crawler and cannot overtake the prey it pursues, it catches those who are stunned by the marvel of its appearance.”]_

“How fascinating!”

“Rainbow serpents are an ambush predator, so the description kind of fits. I haven’t heard anything about them enthralling animals with their appearance, but you never know. Or that part could just be wrong - I’m not sure everything in there is correct,” mused Harry. “I mean, it says the Basilisk is only half a foot long, with white stripes.”

“Perhaps the newly hatched young are like that,” suggested Lucius.

“So… speaking of Basilisks…” hinted Harry, after glancing around to make sure they were alone.

“Ah, you wish to hear more about the diary?”

“If you would be so kind.”

“I suspect it is less dramatic than you are imagining,” he said, riffling curiously through Harry’s pile of books and scrolls he’d been reading, before sitting down. “You are aware of course that the diary was cursed, and could possess people. It attempted to do the same thing to me. I did not care for the experience of being a puppet ordered to carry out the grandiose and foolishly outdated plans of a teenager, ranting to myself in my own study.”

“But why give it to Ginny Weasley of all people? In some secretive fashion, I presume. Did you want Dumbledore to find her with it? Get her expelled as part of your feud with the Weasleys?”

He shook his head. “No. It was never supposed to get to Hogwarts at all, as I told you. Sadly, the girl is an imbecile. The youngest Weasley was supposed to find this book that did not belong to her mixed in with her textbooks, and hand it in to her parents. Even if her honesty didn’t compel her to do so initially, its obvious enchanted nature should have raised an alarm for her. And subsequently it would of course be swiftly consigned for destruction.”

“How? Why?” Harry asked curiously.

“Her father should have seized it at once. Arthur Weasley’s appointment as the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office has more to do with his connections than any knowledge about Muggle affairs, yet even he is not so dim as to fail to recognise a Muggle diary reeking of Dark Magic as being problematic.”

“You could have just turned it in?” Harry suggested hesitantly.

“I did not wish to have to explain how I acquired it,” he said. “Nor shall I explain that matter to you.” Harry’s mouth snapped shut on his next question, and he thought of a new one.

“Do you know how the Dark Lord-”

“-Enough. Let us discuss other matters,” Lucius interrupted abruptly. “Perhaps I can help you find some more books of interest in the library? I regret that our library is not furnished with a catalogue or index. However, I am most familiar with our holdings and may be of assistance in directing you to works of a particular nature.”

Harry switched mental gears swiftly. “Oh. Um. Anything on Occlumency would be good. And other rare talents, including being a Parselmouth of course. Biographies of Healers, and books with modern magical healing spells. And anything on Ambrosius Aurealianus, if you’ve heard of him.”

Lucius gave him an odd look. “ ‘ _If I’ve heard of him_?’ Why would you assume I haven’t heard of Merlin?”

Harry made a choking noise. “What?”

“Yes, Ambrosius Aurelianus. Most commonly known as Merlin, which was of course his Name of Power. You may have also heard tell of him in tales with the Welsh version of his name, Myrddin. Or of course the Latin version – Merlinus. His birth name is I must admit much less commonly known, except by scholars who appreciate the traditions of our people, and the exceptionally well-read,” he stated, with a touch of arrogance.

“It’s considered gauche to refer to someone by their birth name if they have gone to the trouble of calculating a more fortuitous name to bear. It is a grand and terrible thing – to cast off your family in exchange for power! And no-one wishes to be seen to offend Merlin’s spirit by not acknowledging that sacrifice. You’ll find references to him under his original name in some of the older texts, such as the _Historia Brittonum_ or the _Historia Regum Britanniae_. You may come across my namesake, the Roman wizard Lucius Tiberius, in the latter work.”

Lucius went and got the two books mentioned down off one of the shelves, as well as a few more books on the other requested topics. Harry stared at them blankly. Merlin? Really? But he seemed so… ordinary. And sneaky. Definitely sneakier than he’d realised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who saw that revelation about Ambrosius coming? I know a fair few of you guessed ages ago when I first introduced him, but I bet I still caught a few people out. :)
> 
> In the game Snapdragon, you snatch raisins out of a flaming bowl full of brandy (or Ogden’s Old Firewhisky) that’s been set alight.
> 
> If you were bugged by typos and grammatical errors in Dudley’s letter, try not to worry about them - they’re in there on purpose. (I winced at having to use apostrophes inappropriately, but one does have to suffer for one’s art!)
> 
> In regards to Lucius’ explanations of his motivations in regards to the diary, keep in mind that he’s not entirely a reliable narrator. While it is mostly true, he certainly wouldn’t have wept any tears if Arthur and his family had suffered embarrassment, social setbacks in regards to efforts to push pro-Muggle legislation, or legal problems from handing in a Dark artefact or from Ginny being caught with it at school.  
> Livraria Lello is a real bookshop in Porto, Portugal, and looks absolutely stunning in photos. They say it inspired JKR’s vision of the Hogwarts Library. Have a quick Google if you’re curious!
> 
> You can read about a wide variety of fascinating medieval animals both real and mythical in the Aberdeen Bestiary (Liber de bestiarum natura) online, including the Scitalis. http://www.abdn.ac.uk/bestiary/translat/68v.hti
> 
> Thanks to Baelorfan for their guess some time ago that the Parkinsons might give Harry a family tree as a present. 
> 
> Thanks also to Sigfried for their comments back on chapter four about Sirius that encouraged me to drop some hints this chapter about what he’s up to. Your reviews have helped shape Sirius’ actions significantly.
> 
>  **When is the next chapter coming?**  
>  My current plan is to resume posting on Tuesday, 28th February, 2017. It's school holidays here and I need to cut back on my posting. I'm also getting closer to finishing this fic and want to concentrate on getting the last few chapters written, when free time allows. Sorry! Two months should hopefully be enough time to write the last five chapters or so, and edit it all up. If it gets done earlier I'll start posting earlier.
> 
> I will be posting two more chapters of "Her Beauty and the Moonlight", on the next two Fridays, before that also goes on a temporary hiatus to get more writing done.


	17. In Sirius Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s serious trouble at King’s Cross Station! Harry gets told off by various people, and meets Ron’s new pet.

**_Sunday, 2 nd January 1994_ **

Soon enough it was time to pack to return to Hogwarts. Harry begged to be allowed to keep the borrowed wand. He didn’t admit it out loud but he was entranced by daydreams of how it would let him cast all the spells he wanted, and sneak into the forest if it was safe! But no – even Draco wasn’t permitted to have a second wand at school.

The Malfoys discussed their travel plans – all four of them would Floo to the _Leaky Cauldron_ , and from there they would take a limousine to King’s Cross Station. Harry had tentatively hinted that their outfits were overly formal, but Narcissa had only wanted to be reassured that they were appropriately fashionable.

“I am quite satisfied to hear that our attire conveys a message of wealth and distinction,” she said placidly. “So long as we have avoided the unfortunate fashion faux pas that some are prone to, I am content.”

“Why can’t we just Apparate straight there?” asked Harry anxiously, a little worried about attracting attention. “I know you can’t do it on Platform Nine and Three Quarters itself, but couldn’t we go to some quiet spot? Or is it too crowded for that?”

Lucius nodded. “People are indeed strongly discouraged from Apparating or taking a Portkey directly to the Platform. It encourages reckless behaviour that has led to some nasty Splinching accidents in the past – it is far too crowded there, both on the wizarding and the Muggle sides. Travelling home on the other hand does not attract such risks provided one is experienced at travelling with luggage, you avoid the notice of Muggles, and you have a guaranteed quiet and clear location to arrive at.”

Narcissa patted Harry’s arm gently, and he remembered in time not to pull away. “Don’t fret about the limousine, Harry. It is really quite a safe method of transportation, even if you _are_ iron sensitive. We all are. Draco dear, tell him what it’s like. Draco was worried his first time too, but I promise it will be fine.”

“Mother,” Draco said embarrassedly. “He’s been raised by Muggles, remember.”

She paused for a moment, and raised one white-gloved hand to gently cover her mouth. “Oh Merlin, I do apologise, cousin. You simply reminded me so much of Draco for a moment, and I quite forgot.”

“Motherrr!”

“That’s quite alright,” Harry said politely, squashing down his amusement. “I haven’t actually ridden in a limousine or a taxi before at all, although I have travelled in cars, buses, and trains. So it _will_ be a new experience for me.”

Their trunks and Storm’s habitat were shrunk for ease of transport, while Storm rode in Harry’s new leather satchel, along with some books for the trip and a supply of snacks. Storm had sulked when Harry refused to line it with wet leaves and mud for him for a more comfortable nap, but eventually deigned to make do with a little bit of hay in one large pocket set aside just for him.

Harry felt spoiled rotten riding from the _Leaky Cauldron_ in a _limo_ to get to King’s Cross Station, and stretched out his legs just to enjoy the leg room. The station itself was much less posh, and Draco’s parents complained to each other about the noise and grime, and the homeless people and buskers cluttering up the footpaths outside. There was a woman with a backpack with a blue plaid blanket over her legs playing Beatles tunes on a pennywhistle very badly, and an old man in a puffy khaki parka trying to nap, with a cardboard sign out in front of him doing his begging for him. Harry dug his money pouch out of his satchel and gave them each a couple of pounds, despite the tutting disapproval of the Malfoys. He wasn’t far off being homeless himself, after all.

“Remember, I’m not with you,” cautioned Harry as they passed through the twin stone arches of the entrance to the station, “my uncle just dropped me off, okay? And then I saw Draco so we decided to catch up.”

A man in torn jeans with his face shadowed by the hood of his grimy old black jacket rattled a tin cup in Harry’s direction. “Alms, guv’nor? Spare a copper for an old cove down on his luck?” The man peered down sadly into his cup, which judging by the sounds of the pitiful rattle when he shook it could only have a couple of coins in it at most.

“Sure,” Harry said, digging back into his pouch for some more coins. _Alms?_ Harry wondered. _Do people still say that? He sounds almost like a_ …

The man glanced up with a bright grin at him as Harry dropped a few coins in his cup. The bright grey eyes, long stringy black hair tucked down the back of his jacket, and the manically smiling prematurely worn face were unmistakable.

“It’s Sirius Black!” he yelled, taking a step back and fumbling for his wand, but Black was faster than him and grabbed his wrist with a fierce grip.

“Harry… Harry… I will make you see. You will know the truth! And then things will be better, for both of us,” he said with an eerie, earnest intensity.

Harry looked around for help. Narcissa was pulling Draco away and running frantically for the barrier to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Lucius had drawn his snake-handled wand, tossing the walking stick it had been concealed in to the ground. He flicked it discreetly from side to side and some people walking by cried out in fear and pain as they were thrown to the ground by an invisible force, clearing a path in between Lucius and Black.

“Death Eater!” snarled Black wildly as Lucius approached. “Harry! You’re coming with me!”

 _Oh no,_ thought Harry, _he thinks he has to fight Lucius for who gets to take me as a prize to take to his Dark Lord, or something_. _Never mind that he’s dead… or mostly dead. Well this prize isn’t going anywhere easily!_

His right hand was still held fast by Black’s almost skeletally thin hand, long grimy fingernails digging painfully into his skin. But Harry’s _left_ hand was free. While Black was distracted pointing his wand at Lucius and firing off a barrage of spells at him (which caused a lot of shrieking from the panicked Muggles watching), Harry reached into his silk-lined pocket and carefully thumbed down the safety on Dudley’s stiletto. As Black turned to smile wildly at him as Lucius was temporarily disabled by a nasty Severing Charm, Harry drew it and pressed a button to flick the knife open, then stabbed it into Black’s side swiftly before he lost his nerve.

“That’s for my parents, traitor!” he yelled, and stumbled backwards away from Black as he let go of Harry with a short pained gasp, totally shocked by the unexpected attack.

Black looked down at the knife handle sticking out of his side and the blood seeping out onto his jacket and laughed crazily. “A knife… he had a Muggle knife. Good trick – I didn’t expect that. But I forgive you.” He pulled the knife out of his gut with a pained grunt, and dropped it to the ground. Harry couldn’t see the wound, but from how more blood started seeping out he guessed he’d stabbed him pretty well, if not fatally.

“Well I don’t forgive _you_. My parents are _dead_ ,” spat Harry angrily, and the man’s grubby face crumpled like he was going to cry. “I hope he _kills_ you.”

“All my fault,” Black mumbled, with his eyes looking glazed over and lost, “I got it wrong, but I’ll make it right now. With you, Harry. I’ll-”

But the rest of what he was going to say was cut off as Lucius pushed himself to his feet and shot an overpowered Knockback Jinx at Black, despite the encumbrances of a bleeding chest wound and legs magically swollen up like balloons. The man was thrown backwards away from Harry through a shop window with a tremendous crash of shattering glass, but staggered to his feet despite the broken shards crunching under his feet, and lurched back towards Harry.

“Oh no you don’t!” Harry yelled, and quickly drew his own wand.

As Harry pointed his wand and spoke the first syllables of the incantation to strip the bones from his opponent’s arm, and Lucius lumbered up behind him, Black snarled unhappily and Apparated away, leaving Harry’s spell to impact uselessly into the shattered shop interior.

 -000-

In the aftermath of the attack Harry thought the secrecy of the wizarding world was ruined forever, but a swarm of suit-wearing Obliviators descended only minutes later, while Aurors guided him and Lucius Malfoy through to Platform Nine and Three Quarters to question them both out of sight of Muggles.

By the time they crossed over to the wizarding side, the Hogwarts Express had already departed early as a safety precaution for the children, hurried on its way by the very insistent command of Mrs. Malfoy. Only a few worried parents were still milling around the platform with their curiosity outweighing their fears of Sirius Black’s rumoured attack.

Narcissa swooped worriedly over to the two of them as soon as they crossed over, and immediately reversed the Engorgement Charm on her husband’s legs.

After their questioning was done an Auror stayed nearby to guard them all while most of the others spread out to search for Black or clues to where he’d gone. Puffed up with the perceived importance of his role, the Auror occupied himself with shouting directions at people.

“All right you lot! You should all head home unless you actually saw Black! If you did, and you have useful information to report, then form a line over there!” he yelled over the murmurs of the small crowd, gesturing to where he wanted them. “No, not over here, don’t crowd Potter, now! There! Stand there!”

“How bad is it?” worried Narcissa, looking at the blood on Lucius’ jacket with anxious eyes.

“Not too bad,” said Lucius, hissing with pain, as she carefully unbuttoned and removed his jacket with a quick couple of spells. “A Severing Charm to the chest, but it didn’t go through bone. I believe my left leg is broken.”

“Has someone called a Healer yet? I could help?” offered Harry worriedly.

But Narcissa in particular seemed politely wary of the presumed inexpert healing skills of a thirteen-year old. She did concede to Harry’s insistence on conjuring bandages around Lucius’ chest, but was reluctant about Lucius accepting his offer of a Blood-Replenishing potion from his trunk.

“You bought this?” Narcissa asked, inspecting the crystal vial suspiciously. “The label looks odd.” The writing on the label looked appropriate, with the potion name written carefully and some potioneer’s shorthand symbols added around the border of the label to denote the expected potion strength, primary elemental affinity, moon phase, and cauldron type used. But the paper itself was a bright yellow colour (cut from a sticky note though of course she didn’t know that), and was affixed with Muggle sticky tape.

Harry bristled defensively. “I brewed it myself – it’s perfectly good, I promise. Outstanding standard – Professor Snape could only say my bench was a mess, so I know there’s no errors at all. I bottled up some extra in class.”

Narcissa still looked wary of handing it to her husband, holding it up to the light and peering at it to try and judge its shade of red and consistency. “Draco told us you only get Acceptable and Exceeds Expectations results in Potions class.”

Lucius took the vial from her hand and downed the reddish liquid in one gulp, looking pointedly at Harry. “Excellent. Thank you for your assistance, Harry.”

“Dear!” Narcissa gasped worriedly.

“Mending broken bones can be a touchy business,” he said, “but if Harry says Severus approved his potion I think we can trust in them both.”

“I do hope you’re not offended, Harry,” Narcissa said to Harry, with a touch of anxiety bleeding through into her overly polite voice. “It is simply that we prefer a Master Healer, that’s all.”

“It’s quite alright,” said Harry to her. He _was_ a little hurt that she didn’t completely trust him to heal Lucius. He realised there was a disadvantage after all to playing down his talents in class.

He turned to Lucius and said, “I should be thanking _you_ sir – you saved my life. I think perhaps I owe you a life debt?”

Lucius’ eyes gleamed for a moment, but then he shook his head regretfully. “No, for while you were assuredly in danger, a life debt is only claimed if you have saved someone from immediate threat of death, and Black never cast an offensive spell at you.”

Harry was startled by that thought. “Oh. He didn’t, did he? He was just ranting, and trying to kidnap me, I think. He might’ve tried to kill me later, though. Well, I’m grateful all the same. I won’t forget your aid and I hope to return the favour one day.” He bowed in gratitude.

“Forgive me if I don’t return your bow, but I think I would prefer to remain seated,” Lucius said with a graceful nod of his head, touching his conjured bandages lightly.

The Auror guarding them seemed distracted trying to keep back a photographer from the Daily Prophet who was reducing to snapping some photos from a distance, and arguing with an eager-looking blonde reporter wearing a very ugly pair of glasses. Narcissa Apparated away with a promise to return with their family Healer, and her husband turned to Harry for a quick private consultation about their press strategy.

“Do you have any preference in regards to how to present this situation to the _Prophet_ , Harry?” he asked courteously, as if Harry was a fellow adult whose opinion was both valued and important.

“I assumed you would take credit as the hero of the hour?” Harry asked cautiously.

“Not so brashly as that, and I obviously would not neglect telling of your own actions, but yes it was my general intention. Do you have any objections or concerns? An agenda to work in when discussing this incident?”

Harry thought Mr. Malfoy was giving him a little too much credit for being politically savvy. Still, now he mentioned it there _was_ something he wouldn’t mind giving a little spin. “Umm… if it’s not too much trouble, could you make it sound like stabbing Black when he wasn’t looking was brave and heroic, not sneaky and Slytherin?”

Lucius looked highly amused, and his overly tight smile suggested he was only barely avoiding laughing because he thought it would be rude, or because it would hurt his chest wound. “Certainly. I will do my best, little snake in lion’s clothing.”

“Thanks. And… if you can get me my knife back off the Aurors, that would be good. They said they needed to keep it, and wouldn’t give it back to me.”

“I’m sure they do need it. With Black’s blood on it, there’s some interesting spells they can cast on it to help track him, if the Minister is willing to grant a rare exemption. Blood magic is completely forbidden… unless it suddenly becomes useful,” he sneered.

“Will it work even though it’s a steel knife? And could I have it back once they take the blood off it?”

“Steel? That may be problematic. It may indeed lessen the usefulness of the blood. And I hope you’re aware that such weapons are prohibited for wizards.”

Harry chewed at his lip worriedly. “Really? I didn’t know. It’s actually my cousin’s knife, if that helps. He lent it to me.”

Lucius nodded. “That may help. Permit me to represent your interests in this matter. If I cannot have it returned to you, I shall ensure it is sent to your Muggle cousin post-haste if you can supply his direction. Perhaps we can claim a family feud with the Blacks, started by him,” he mused thoughtfully to himself. “There is more leeway in the law in situations of a potentially House-ending feud.”

An Auror appeared to take Harry to Hogsmeade Station and to escort him to Hogwarts, but Harry insisted on letting the Daily Prophet photographer get a nice picture of him and Lucius before he left. “They’ve already gotten photographs, but not a good one,” he explained, “and Professor Lockhart always said that since they’ll use bad photographs if that’s all they have, you may as well pose nicely for them.”

“We’re battered, but brave and unbowed,” he muttered to Lucius, who squeezed his shoulder in quiet approval before forcing himself to his feet to stand regally at his side.

The Auror whisked him away shortly after that, and the blonde reporter looked crankily disappointed to get nothing more than one quick and uninspiring quote from Harry before he left about how grateful he was for Lucius Malfoy’s assistance, and how he hoped Black would be caught soon.

-000-

He might be headed for the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ for his hopefully heroic-sounding fight against Sirius Black, but in the short term all it got him was a talk with the Headmaster. With the Hogwarts Express still hours away from arriving since Apparating to Hogsmeade and walking to Hogwarts was much faster than a steam train from London, he was escorted by the Auror through the empty castle to the Headmaster’s office. There he was handed over to the care of Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall. Professor McGonagall hugged him again, and he stood there stiffly as she squeezed him, not knowing what to do and very grateful when she finally let go. He wished Neville was there as a quiet pillar of support, but regrettably he was still on the train. Probably worrying himself to pieces while Hermione brainstormed a dozen theories about what could go wrong, and Draco boasted about his father’s certain victory.

His professors encouraged him to retell what had happened and he did so willingly, albeit with a little obfuscation around how he’d arrived at King’s Cross Station in the first place, and how he’d “just gotten to chatting with Draco” when he ran into Black posing as a homeless man.

Professor McGonagall seemed torn between being horrified at the danger he’d been in, and intensely proud of him for fighting back against Black, while Dumbledore’s twinkly blue eyes seemed to radiate a quiet pleased approval for the whole business, and he was given 50 points for Gryffindor for his brave heroics. Which he guessed was kind of nice.

Unfortunately for Harry his smooth glossing over arriving at the station “in a car” didn’t pass without challenge, for once his recitation of the events was finished Dumbledore started picking at the specifics of that statement.

“So, who did you say again dropped you off at the station?”

“My uncle, sir,” Harry lied smoothly with a convincingly sincere smile. “He left pretty quickly so I knew _he_ would be alright. I’m going to write home all about it, I know he’ll be worried when he hears about what happened.”

Dumbledore leaned back against the soft velvet-cushioned back of his chair, and stroked his long beard thoughtfully. “Well I’m not sure that will be necessary. You see, he already knows about the attack.”

Harry froze for a moment, like a rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming car. _How could he know already? This must be a bluff. Well I’m not going to get caught so easily_ , he thought.

“Gosh, I don’t know how, sir. Has it been in the news already? There were Obliviators everywhere so I assumed it wouldn’t be?” he asked with a carefully surprised face.

“Harry-” started Dumbledore.

 _Potter_ , thought Harry crossly, but let it go.

“-I asked someone to check on your family to ensure that they were well. In case Black had struck there, either before or after the attack on you. I am sure you also will be heartened to hear that she said all is well with the Dursleys. However, imagine my surprise to learn that not only was your uncle safe and well at home, but that he had never ventured to King’s Cross Station at all that day.”

Professor McGonagall’s head whipped back and forth between the two of them.

“A friend of the family gave me a lift, actually,” Harry said, hoping he could still talk his way out of this.

Dumbledore seemed unimpressed by that statement, and looked at him gravely. “In fact, not only did your family stay at home for Christmas rather than going away as you told us they would, but you did not join them at _all_ for the holiday season.”

Harry shrunk down in his chair, shoulders hunched, as Professor McGonagall glared at him sternly.

“Potter! You _lied_ about going away with your family?! I’m _very disappointed_ in you, young man. We were trying to take measures to ensure your safety, and you _disregarded_ our concerns, and look what it nearly led to!” she scolded. “Where were you? Off at Longbottom’s, I suppose?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, abashed, hoping to still salvage what he could of his cover story and dodge the revelation of where he’d actually stayed. “I didn’t want to stay at Hogwarts – I felt trapped. And I was worried about staying with my family. You know, if my uncle _had_ taken me to King’s Cross Station, he would’ve been completely defenceless against Black’s attack. I’m just lucky a wizard was around to help.”

They seemed to buy it, perhaps aided by his persistent visualisations of a calm blue sky with clouds floating past, and regular avoidance of eye contact with the Headmaster. He suffered through some more concerned scolding about his actions and his lying though, and got points taken off Gryffindor for putting himself in danger and lying about his Christmas plans (ending up only ten points ahead). He figured that was fair. And Professor McGonagall’s points about the danger of walking around King’s Cross Station without a guard did seem reasonable, with the benefit of hindsight. He missed out on lunch the meeting went so long, but he’d had worse than that in the past so didn’t bother to complain about it. He had a croissant wrapped up in his satchel anyway, even though Draco had insisted there would be plenty of snacks on the train. Their house-elf had been happy to make him a snack for the train, and cried when he thanked her. Draco had dismissed her in disgust, unconvinced that it was his actions rather than Harry’s that were inappropriate.

As the meeting drew to a close, the adults had a quiet conference together, their discussion audibly obscured after the casting of a muttered spell by the Headmaster.

Professor McGonagall afterwards then had what was no doubt intended as a nice surprise announcement for him. “I do appreciate you are feeling… stifled by the restrictions on your movements with Black after you. But we can’t have you sneaking away and into danger,” she explained kindly. “But to ensure that you are not feeling _trapped_ again, we will ensure that you _are_ permitted to go to Hogsmeade with the other students, albeit escorted by myself or another teacher at all times.”

 _Oh great,_ he thought unhappily. Now he’d never get to sneak away to Grantown-on-Spey to phone his tutor. “Thank you, Professor,” he said, with a practiced charming smile that Harry thought looked a lot like Professor Lockhart’s, but which reminded Professor Dumbledore of another young man entirely.

-000-

There weren’t many students left at Hogwarts for the holidays – a couple of nervous first years didn’t seem to want to go anywhere _near_ Harry as he headed up to his dorm, but a curious fifth year Slytherin student spotted him as he made his way through the corridors. Glancing around to make sure no teachers were watching, he bowed to him and cautiously sounded him out on what he was doing at Hogwarts.

The boy was delighted to have the chance to gather gossip straight from the horse’s mouth about the attack by Sirius Black, and in payment Harry had hinted at how if he was retelling the story to any non-Slytherins he’d appreciate being referred to as “brave” for attacking Black, not “sneaky” (like the boy had observed in admiration) and that he didn’t want a big fuss being made over any of it.

Harry prepped for the students’ return by writing a short note for Neville, asking him to tell anyone who asked that Harry snuck off to stay with him over Christmas, and that they split up when they reached King’s Cross Station. He wrote another note for Draco with a warning reminder for him that Draco didn’t know where Harry had been over Christmas, and that they just met up at the station. When the students eventually arrived at dinner time, spilling into the Great Hall with a chattering cacophony of noise, he covertly slipped his friends their notes without a word, and then immediately turned to talk to Hermione and Ron and a whole cluster of Gryffindors eager to hang on his every word. The level of attention he was getting was almost unbearable, but after Draco had had the chance to read his note, he commandeered a share of it too, regaling an eager audience with his own side of the tale.

Harry had no idea if Narcissa really _had_ saved the Hogwarts Express and all the students on it from being attacked by Black, but it sure sounded good. Harry threw in some polite praise of Draco’s father, which made him puff up with pride at the excited and impressed murmurs from all around him. Neville didn’t seem terribly impressed by it, however, and didn’t join in the chorus of reverent praise for Mr. Malfoy.

Meanwhile at the Slytherin table the fifth year Slytherin whose name Harry had already forgotten was holding court amongst some of the older Slytherin students who’d settled down for dinner.

After the immediate thirst for gossip was slaked, Harry got to sit down to eat as students retold his story for him to others who hadn’t gotten the chance to hear it yet. Ron Weasley seemed happy to be one of those storytellers, and after a while Harry just started saying, “I’m eating, so ask Weasley - he knows all about it now” to any students with questions about the incident. They were both very happy with that arrangement.

The rest of the Weasley clan was also abuzz with excitement over the event. Little Ginny watched him with stars in her eyes, the twins seemed to think it was “wicked” he’d stabbed Sirius Black with a dagger, and Percy insisted on escorting him personally up to the dorm after dinner, “just in case of trouble.”

That evening Harry was busy unshrinking Storm’s tank and getting him settled, including a Parseltongue recitation of the day’s events, when Ron (who seemed to still be in quite a good mood) came and found him.

“Hey, Potter. I wondered if I could introduce my new pet to Storm?” he asked politely, holding out a little speckled ginger kitten with big ears and a tufted tail like a lion’s.

“Oh, sure. It doesn’t look like an ordinary cat – is it a Kneazle?”

“Three-quarters Kneazle, mum reckons. His name’s Kyle – Ginny said I had to pick a name starting with K to go with ‘kitten’, and he seemed to like that one. I got him for Christmas.”

“Who’s it from? Your parents?”

Ron gave it a little scratch underneath its ear and it leaned into his hand with a happy purr. “Dunno actually. He just showed up on Christmas morning, with a red ribbon around his neck, and a little tag with writing on both sides that said, ‘Merry Christmas Ron Weasley! I am _very, very_ sorry to hear the news that you lost your rat. He must be hiding really well – allow me to furnish you with a replacement as I do not believe he shall return to you.’ I think they shoved him through the Floo overnight – we found him napping next to the fireplace. Mum said I could keep him if I look after him properly. I wondered at first if maybe he was from you, but I guess not.”

Harry shrugged apologetically. “Sorry Weasley, I didn’t send anything this year. Next time, okay?”

Ron sighed. “Still a mystery, then. It was weird that there was a gift from you for Percy, and nothing for me. But no hard feelings. I’m trying to be a _better_ friend, even if we can’t be best friends again.”

“Sure, and it’s appreciated. I’ve noticed your efforts,” Harry said politely. Ron smiled at that.

After Harry hissed some instructions, Storm greeted the Kneazle kitten, circling around it while it sat curled up on the maroon bedspread, flicking his tongue in and out to taste the air. “ _I like it – I won’t eat it I promise. I will call it… Blaze_. _It lookss nice and warm and orange._ ”

“ _It has a name already. Its name is Kyle._ ”

Storm hissed angrily and lashed his colourful shimmering tail. “ _I never get to name anything! You named me, but I didn’t get to name you! Well I’m going to call it Blaze ssso there. You can’t ssstop me_. _I like that name better._ ”

“Doesn’t he like it?” Ron asked anxiously, picking up his kitten and cautiously putting it on his lap away from the agitated serpent. “Is something wrong with my kitten?”

“Oh no, he really does like it, he just wants to give it a name and is throwing a tantrum that it already has one. He wants to call it Blaze, because it’s warm and fire-coloured.”

Ron looked down at the wiggling snake twisting itself into a sulky knot. “Your pet is weird sometimes. You know that, right?”

“…Yeah. He is just a baby snake still, you know. He’s not full grown yet,” he apologised.

“He’s over three feet long!” objected Ron. “He’s still a baby? How much bigger is he going to get?!”

“Uh… you probably don’t really want to know. Wonambi can grow pretty big.”

“How big?” Ron asked warily.

“…Up to twenty-three feet, apparently.”

Ron blanched. “Merlin preserve us all.”

It reminded Harry that he had a sneaky mosaic to talk to as soon as he got a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! It’s great to be back from my (very productive) writing break. And good news! You’ll now get a new chapter of this fic every Tuesday until the whole fic is uploaded. :)
> 
> Thanks to tinkerbelldetention101’s family, including “Jamie”, “Blake” and “Ben”, for their suggestions about Ron’s new pet. I have used a mix of your ideas, boys! :)
> 
> Kyle the Kitten is three-quarters Kneazle, and is the son of Crookshanks and a purebred Kneazle, born at Mrs. Figg’s. She adopted Crookshanks for free when no-one else wanted him.
> 
> TheWinsomeWasp – here’s Harry getting to use the switchblade. :)
> 
> Thanks to StBridget and Theothercourse for approving of my beggar!Sirius as being sufficiently Dickensian. :) Like many socially isolated pure-bloods he’s a bit behind the times in regards to how to blend into Muggle society.
> 
> Guest – Thank you for your review on FFN where you wrote how a friend warned you that you’d fallen behind on reading chapters, and so you went and reread the series! What a lovely compliment that is, and a delightful image for me of friends chatting with each other about my story, somewhere in the world.
> 
> Ilonwy, DB3200, and faal (guests) – Thanks for your lovely reviews! (I can only thank guest reviewers on FFN at the end of chapters, as I can’t send messages. Sorry if there’s someone I missed.)
> 
> M (guest) – Harry doesn’t need to apologise for Crabbe’s brother’s death, and not even Draco is saying he should. The Malfoy perspective and attitude is of course skewed to reflect their side in the war (the deaths of people on your side are tragedies – the deaths of enemies are triumphs). Harry feels more guilty/responsible than he should – he’s used to being blamed for things that aren’t his fault, and being made to apologise for them. Remember that characters will usually speak from their own (sometimes biased) points of view, which are not necessarily mine as the author.


	18. A Good Telling Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy tells off Harry. Hermione tells off Snape. Snape tells off Harry. Harry tells off Ambrosius. Harry tells off Binns, who tells off Harry for telling him off. Everyone knows the world would be so much better if people just listened to them!

**_January 1994_ **

On Monday morning, Percy Weasley and Oliver Wood walked Harry and his Gryffindor friends outside to the Care of Magical Creatures class – they didn’t bother to try and be subtle about guarding him. The wind was bitingly cold and Harry wrapped his scarf and his fur-lined cloak tighter around himself to ward off the chill. The gloves were green woollen ones that Millicent had given him, the warmest ones he had, so he was wearing his dad’s old red and gold Gryffindor scarf to balance things out so he wouldn’t be accused of going against his House or something silly like that.

Percy used the opportunity of their walk together to tell Harry off for waltzing around King’s Cross Station without someone with him at all times, and also fretted about how the fracas had endangered the Statute of Secrecy. But he seemed so genuinely worried about him being attacked that Harry cut him some slack, even if he was rather critical about how it all should’ve been handled better somehow.

Harry explained that he’d gotten a letter from Madam Hopkirk about the one spell he’d cast out in the Muggle area of the station, but that it was already noted as being justified and wouldn’t count as a mark on his record.

“To be saved by Malfoy, of all people!” tutted Wood.

“He is an upstanding member of our community,” objected Percy stiffly, “and his past actions under the Imperius shouldn’t be held against him.”

“I’m glad he helped drive Black off,” said Harry. “I mean, without him there who knows what might have happened!”

Draco was certainly milking it for all it was worth, and the phrase “my father” was overheard several times during Care of Magical Creatures as he gossiped proudly to anyone who would listen. Weasley scowled, and Hermione ignored Draco in favour of listening intently to Professor Hagrid’s lecture about fairies. But Draco still had quite an audience hanging on his every word, including some of the Gryffindors who found his tale telling more engaging than Harry’s rather dry recitation of events they’d eventually coaxed out of him the night before.

During class Dean Thomas got a nasty bite from one of the fairies – he’d misjudged their temperament and basically made the same mistake that Draco had with the Hippogriffs, but with less severe consequences.

“I just said they’re always prettier in fairy stories,” he grumbled, as Harry cast a healing spell on his hand and bandaged it up purely as a precaution, under Professor Hagrid’s fretful, anxious gaze. “They should have pretty wings like butterflies. And no sharp teeth.”

“Are yeh alright now? Blimey, I’ve never had ‘em bite like tha’, they might nibble friendly-like now an’ then but they don’t hurt yeh,” worried Hagrid. Harry looked at his giant calloused hands and mentally compared them to Thomas’ smooth skin, but didn’t say anything.

“Don’t worry,” said Thomas. “I won’t be complaining or anything. It was my fault, really. I should’ve been nicer to them – you _did_ tell us they’re very proud of their appearance.” He smirked when Draco made a face as Gryffindor subsequently got ten points from their relieved Professor, and high-fived Ron when the teacher’s back was turned.

As they wandered off to their next classes Hermione chatted with Weasley about how she hoped learning palmistry would be better than studying patterns in tea leaves. Harry sidled over to the Slytherins and asked Draco curiously, “Whatever happened with that Hippogriff? The one that attacked you?”

“There’s still arguments over the matter, but father says it will probably be relocated to a reserve if they don’t agree to execute the nasty beast. Either option would suffice.”

Pansy turned to Harry thoughtfully and asked, “Cousin, did you ever formally complain about that Dementor that attacked you?”

“No,” he said, surprised. “I didn’t think of it at the time. Can you execute a Dementor?” There was a lot of interested discussion about it, but no-one there knew for sure if Dementors could even die, or how they were born. Harry decided he might try and look it up later. Perhaps the new history book Tracey had given him for Yule might have some information on them in it.

-000-

After lunch Potions class was unusually trying. Professor Snape stopped by Harry’s desk as soon as his potion was finished, and scooped out a ladle full of the viscous pale lavender potion to inspect, giving it a judgemental sniff. “Abysmal,” sneered Professor Snape with rather uncharacteristic derision in his voice, letting the pale purple syrup slowly slide off the ladle to plop back into Harry’s cauldron. “Yet again you and your partner have failed to reach the standard I expect in this class, Potter.” Despite his condemnation of Harry’s work, however, he didn’t take any points off him. In fact, he hadn’t all year - not that everyone had noticed but Harry certainly appreciated it.

Hermione twisted around at her desk to look at the altercation going on behind her with a frown, comparing his cauldron of perfect sparkling lavender potion with her sparkling purple potion that was only a shade darker, which Snape had swept past earlier with a sniffed comment of “Adequate”.

“Sorry sir,” apologised Harry. “What did we do wrong?”

Sometimes Professor Snape would give useful feedback for a more perfect potion if he asked – telling Neville off for not mincing the salamander tails finely enough, or criticizing Harry for using too many borage stems as only an idiot totally reliant on the textbook would do. His question didn’t furnish him with any helpful tips on this occasion, however.

“Everything,” Professor Snape said unhelpfully.

Harry scowled.

“Stop asking idiotic questions, and do _not_ make faces at me, Potter! You will report to my office for detention this evening at six.”

Harry apologised and smoothed his face out of its cross lines and returned to cleaning up his work bench. Snape swept away to take ten points off Ron and Seamus for their outraged “moronic muttering”, and Hermione was frowning fiercely as she worked next to Eloise Midgen, as if to compensate for Harry’s own current ban on facial expressions. Though Harry didn’t notice her doing so, Hermione took a circuitous route to the large classroom bin past Draco’s table to peek in his cauldron before its excess contents were disposed of, murmuring a quiet question to him.

“Never mind,” said Neville with a consoling whisper to Harry, “you _know_ we brewed that Sleeping Draught correctly.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, ladling a little of the lavender syrup from his cauldron into a couple of empty crystal vials to tuck into his bag when Professor Snape wasn’t looking. He was saving a little of any useful-sounding potions whenever an opportunity arose. “It’s perfect. Or he would’ve explained in what way it wasn’t.”

Hermione was late packing up after handing in her potion, she seemed to be dawdling a little as she fussed over her adequately clean bench trying to get off ancient stains inflicted by some previous generation of Potions students.

“Are you coming to Defence?” Harry asked.

She waved him and Neville off firmly. “I’m fine, shoo. I have plenty of time to get to class,” she said meaningfully. “You go ahead.”

So they shrugged and left her there under Snape’s impatient gaze, and Neville carefully left the door to the classroom wide open as they departed, muttering something under his breath about propriety that Harry didn’t quite catch.

-000-

Professor Lupin’s Defence class continued in its pattern of learning about dark creatures, plus a smattering of spells useful against them. After class he invited Harry to stay for a quick word, and Harry covertly nudged Neville and Hermione into joining him, which didn’t seem to raise any objections.

“I’ve been hearing about your Defence club. ‘Potter Watch’, isn’t it? I thought you should know that I’ve added my name to the list of teachers willing to help your club keep an eye on you while Black is on the loose.”

Harry blinked. “There’s a list?”

Lupin nodded. “Yes, your friend Weasley – Percy Weasley that is – has been putting one together to raise officially at the next meeting. I believe Professors Flitwick and Snape have already agreed to help out too. And I’m at your disposal to escort you to your destination after classes finish on Monday, and to walk you to the Great Hall for lunch after class on Friday.”

“That’s a great idea!” beamed Hermione.

“It seemed prudent. In addition to which, I thought you might like to join me for tea some time, to maybe share a few reminiscences about your parents, Harry, and discuss me volunteering for a guest lecture at your club?”

Harry dug into his leather satchel to find his Muggle diary, which had the moon phases marked in it. The next full moon wasn’t until the twenty-seventh of January.

“That’s very kind of you, sir. The Potter Watch meeting on Sunday the twenty-fourth of January would suit nicely? And tea would be pleasant, but this weekend is rather full up with Potter Watch on Sunday, and a rescheduled H.E.L.P. Society meeting on Saturday. Perhaps next Saturday? And maybe Neville could come too – I imagine you knew his parents… ah… in the war years? I’m sure he would like to hear some stories about them too.”

Professor Lupin looked a little disappointed at Harry’s polite insistence on bringing along a friend to join their tête-à-tête, but not enough to turn down Harry’s proposal. He escorted the group of friends to the library, and after Harry had been covertly passed Hermione’s Time-Turner, Harry casually headed off to the bathroom for a couple of minutes… that would allow him four hours in the Chamber of Secrets to tell off a very sly mosaic wizard.

-000-

He’d thought about being subtle about it, but there didn’t seem to be a lot of point. He just tapped on the frame, sat down in the chair facing the mosaic, and blurted it out.

“So, hello again _Merlin_.”

The man looked startled, but it seemed overdone to Harry’s suspiciously sceptical eye. “Sorry? I think you must be confused – I’m not that august wizard of renown.”

“Ambrosius Aurelianus, born in the second century in Britain to a Roman wizard who was the provincial governor of Valentia, and an ordinary British woman. A half-blood, or ‘cambion’ as the French Arthurian legends call you. Also known by many names including Myrddin Emrys, Merlin Ambrosius, Merlinus, and of course Merlin. You’re in the _Historia Brittonum_ and _Historia Regum Britanniae_ with your birth name. And you told me you can change into a falcon – though to be more precise it’s a merlin, isn’t it?” he said confidently.

Ambrosius smiled slyly with an amused twist to his mouth. “It’s a fine bird, the merlin. A very fast and nimble hunter.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I had no reason to. I wished to take my measure of you without the risk of you putting on a false front to impress me.”

“And?” he asked nervously. He didn’t know exactly why it mattered if the wizard approved of him, but he hoped that he did.

“You seem likeable enough. Smart, diligent in your studies. Kind-hearted enough to visit me just to keep me company even when I was teaching you little. With a cunning streak your ancestor Salazar would’ve been proud of.”

Harry sighed. “Not as cunning as you – I can see now why you thought you belonged in Slytherin. You just pretended to be bad at magic all this time?”

He coughed embarrassedly. “Somewhat – here and there I may have exaggerated my amazement a little, and downplayed my accomplishments. But magic really has advanced a lot since my day, which alas has greatly disappointed visitors in the past. You have no conception of how revolutionary the development of powerfully functional wands with bonded magical cores has been. Antioch Peverell created or obtained what is believed to be the first dual-natured wand in the thirteenth century, and the method spread widely after that.”

“How about Morgan Le Fay - Morgana? Was she real? The books made it sound like she was. And she’s on a chocolate frog card, and I know that’s not really proof but it means everyone _thinks_ she was real.”

He nodded. “Yes, Morgen was once an apprentice of mine, and a skilled Healer. She would have been proud to take you under her wing. She was much maligned after her death – her secretive nature didn’t earn her many friends even though her heart was kind. She was no relation to my lord, by the way.”

“King Arthur? Did she take him to Avalon to heal him?”

“Heal him? No, I’m afraid he isn’t sleeping somewhere awaiting a time he is needed. But she and her sisters took him there to be buried, lest enemies or relic-seekers disturb his grave. The apple isle is lost in these latter years.”

Harry got out his leather-bound diary and started making some notes in it, in invisible ink as usual.

“Recording the tale in your Founders’ Diary are you? Please leave out my identity, so I can be a puzzle for your heirs in turn. Just record any tales about myself as if I’m telling them about someone I’d heard of.”

Harry erased the first sentence with a very carefully targeted spell and started again. “Alright. I suppose I can do that. So there wasn’t a holy grail, I’m guessing?”

“Certainly not. Though he did seek and acquire a treasured magical cauldron, which I believe may be the source of that legend. And to anticipate your next question,” he said with a touch of impatience, “he did have an enchanted sword, but it was named Caledfwlch, not Caliburnus or Escalibor, as I’m told it is known these days.”

He eyed Harry curiously, as if awaiting a particular response. Harry decided to avoid asking about either of those two items any further, even though he was desperately curious. Ambrosius… Merlin… had probably had lots of people asking where they were over the centuries, and if he wanted to tell Harry what happened to them he would, and if he didn’t there was nothing Harry could do about it. Harry just checked the spelling so he could write down his notes correctly.

He decided to change the topic a bit. “Will you tell me more about yourself and King Arthur? And did Nimue really trap you in a tree?”

Merlin sighed. “Another time, perhaps. It’s really not as exciting as the legends centuries later made it all sound – you’d probably be disappointed. The Christianisation of that time in the legends is particularly frustrating of course. Besides, tales of battles, betrayals, and the treachery of women are best kept for when you’re older. Instead, I’ll tell you a tale that Salazar told me long ago.”

While he would’ve rather heard more about the Arthurian legends, he had a feeling that this might be another test, so listened with patient attentiveness which blossomed into real fascination as Merlin told him what Salazar thought was the origin of his family’s talent as Parselmouths. He hissed a translation for Storm during his breaks to write down notes in his diary.

“ _Sssalazar told Ambrosiuss that family legendss sssaid they were descended from a Pythia – one of the priestesses who were Ssseers at Pytho, which is a highly magical sssite on the ssslopess of Mount Parnassus in Greece. She ssserved a great, intelligent sssnake-woman called Delphyne, or Python, and it is believed she granted the most valued of her priestesses the ability to ssspeak her native tongue. That sssite would later become the Oracle of Delphi, after Python was ssslain by the priestss of Apollo, or perhapss Apollo himself, with a barrage of arrowss._ ”

Storm looked worried. “ _Will sssomeone try to shoot me? Were they all killed for it?_ ”

Harry checked in with Merlin what happened to Apollo, then translated his response. “ _It was long ago, and none of them are alive now. Ambrosiuss sssays that Apollo was forced to make amendss, but of course it didn’t bring back the dead._ ”

Merlin added, “The Emperor Julian, whom the Christians called Apostate, tried to restore the shrine during his reign, but it was not to last and his works did not survive his death, for Theodosius came not long after him, and destroyed the temple and most of the artworks at the end of the fourth century. The ancient line of the Seers of Delphi ended then – the Pythias and their families were killed, or driven from the land. Salazar told me his family legends said that it was then that his ancestors fled all the way through the Roman Empire to Britain. I admit that I never heard of them when I was alive, but then perhaps they did not speak widely of their abilities. And of course, I was not acquainted with every single magically talented individual in Britain, and I was busy with my own affairs.”

They spent a little while together after that in companionable silence while Harry read a chapter in his Biology textbook, and worked on some homework for Care of Magical Creatures about the dietary habits of fairies. It seemed extraordinary dull in comparison to Ambrosius’ tales. After that he went into Salazar’s old bedchamber for a nap for a few hours, before he rewound time again and rejoined everyone back out in the Hogwarts library. From their perspective he’d only been gone a few minutes for a trip to the bathroom.

He only had an hour and a bit before he had to head to find Snape for his detention, however, Professor Snape didn’t want him to scrub cauldrons. It quickly became clear that what he’d really been after in finding an excuse to give Harry a detention was the opportunity to tell him off in the privacy of his office. The walls were crowded with shelves packed with books, and jars full of odd ingredients, and the air smelled of musty herbs.

He wasn’t fooled by Harry’s implied story of having stayed at Longbottom manor, and after the niceties of greeting were out of the way and the door was closed, he launched straight into a tirade.

“Malfoy manor! What were you thinking, you idiotic child! Have you no sense of self-preservation at all?” he spat as he paced back and forth, black robe flaring out behind him as he walked.

Harry stood stiffly at attention. “They were very kind. And I talked to Lucius about it-”

“-Lucius!”

“Mr. Malfoy, sir. He said it was silly not to call him by his first name when Narcissa and I, as second cousins, are on a first name basis.”

Snape narrowed his eyes and peered at Harry intently, causing Harry to instantly break eye contact as a precaution to stare at his chin. Professor Snape must’ve shaved recently – the skin there was very smooth.

“You know his background. Don’t pretend you are unaware of the danger I am referring to – this is not just about Black.”

“Yes, sir. But… the Malfoys like me. The war’s long over, and I’m a politically advantageous acquaintance to cultivate.”

Snape stopped his agitated pacing, and spoke more calmly, “At least you’re aware enough to realise that the connection is not a purely altruistic one based solely on your friendship with Draco.”

“No, sir,” Harry said. He knew deep down that few people would want to be friends with him without some ulterior motive - he just wasn’t that likeable. He felt very lucky to have the friends he did. “I kept it a secret you know – visiting there.”

Snape scoffed derisively, “That was your idea of keeping a secret? A secret shared is a secret lost.”

“I was careful! I didn’t tell many people at all!”

“Given I heard about the matter, clearly your discretion was insufficient.”

Harry paused. “It was enough for Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster.”

“Only because I chose not to inform them. And I found out that you initially informed them you were staying with your family, though they now appear to be convinced you skulked away to stay with Longbottom as per your original plan.”

“Well, I _was_ staying with family. What I told you was true… from a certain point of view.”

“You’re quoting _Star Wars_ at me?”

“ _You’ve_ seen _Star Wars_?”

Snape shifted uncomfortably. “ _Return of the Jedi_ was a very fine film. But that’s beside the point,” he said, quickly changing the topic. “Can you be trusted not to sneak away in the future and put your life at risk? Will we see you return to Privet Drive in the summer, or will you try and hide yourself away without a moment’s thought for those who might be concerned at your absence?”

Harry hesitated uncertainly.

Snape smirked at his hesitation. “Well, at least you are not launching into an immediate lie. I must caution you that attempting to persuade me that the answer is, ‘Of course I won’t, sir!’ is no longer an option after that noticeable pause to mentally compose your answer.”

Harry sighed at being caught out with his hesitation again. He needed to work on that. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll be welcome back home or not. It depends on if Black is caught or not.” He risked a brief glance at his professor’s face – he looked vaguely concerned.

“I’m sure your family, or your aunt at least, would rather know that you’re safe than have you hiding out on your own. Perhaps some kind of guard could be arranged.”

Harry scowled. “I don’t know _if I’ll be welcome back home_. Literally. I’d rather go and stay with Neville. I still don’t see why the Headmaster objected to that – it was good enough over summer!”

“During the summer the threat of Sirius Black to you was only a possibility. After his attack on the Gryffindor dorm it became a certainty. There is something else too…” he said, and trailed off thoughtfully for a moment. Harry waited patiently. “Professor Dumbledore is very insistent you return to stay with the Dursleys over summer. He will not permit you to go elsewhere.”

“It’s none of his business.”

“It needs to be _someone’s_ business, and the Headmaster is making it his.”

“I want to stay with Neville,” Harry insisted stubbornly. “I can get a letter from the Dursleys saying so, really I can. There just wasn’t time before Y… Christmas. They would be fine with me staying wherever I want.” It wasn’t exactly a happy thought. He stared at the toes of his leather boots peeking out from under his robe, unable to decide if he wanted to cry, or hit something, and knowing that he must quash both impulses.

Snape pinched at the bridge of his nose. “If you slip up on a word relating to Druidic practices, never correct yourself. Simply say ‘Yule’ and if they notice and question it ask innocently if it isn’t just another word for Christmas, like it is in the Muggle world. Correcting your error merely draws attention to the fact you have something to hide. For a larger error, change the topic to a controversial one or say something else that will quickly engage your conversational partner’s attention.”

Harry nodded obediently – that was good advice. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“I was _intending_ to share with you some confidential information about the wards around Privet Drive, but I am no longer confident in your sense of discretion.”

“There aren’t any wards there,” said Harry, puzzled. “Uncle Vernon would never agree.”

There was only a meaningful silence from Snape in response.

“I have been learning Occlumency, you know. And I _can_ keep a secret. When it’s important,” coaxed Harry. He really wanted to know who had put wards there, and how.

“Then raise your gaze to meet my eyes,” Snape challenged. “As a test of your capabilities.”

Hesitantly, Harry asked, “What memories would you look for?”

“Recent memories of your family. Is that an acceptable risk?”

Harry nodded. It was private enough to motivate him to work hard to guard his thoughts, but not so intrusive that he should refuse straight away. He took a moment to compose himself. Did he want to do this? He had to know _some_ time if his defences were any good. This might be the best opportunity he’d get, and there was something to gain if he was successful. He could look away if it went badly and his professor started seeing too much.

“Alright,” he said, and took a moment to calm his thoughts before raising his eyes to meet Professor Snape’s piercing gaze.

For a few moments he thought of clouds drifting through the sky, and the soft sounds of the patter of falling rain. But then it was like his mind was nudged to involuntarily think instead of why he’d run away from Privet Drive. Remembered fragments of his conversation with the Dursleys drifted through his mind.

_“And the three of us are going away somewhere until he’s back at… that school. My foot is down, Petunia.”_

Alright, that wasn’t good, but it was not so private Harry felt he had to instantly look away. Harry struggled to recapture his feeling of calm and guard his mind, while the memories kept unfolding despite his best efforts.

_“But what do **I** do?”_

_“You? This problem is all your fault, you realise - we’re the ones suffering here, forced out of our own home because the trouble you’ve brought to it... Buck up like a man. There’s nothing worth crying about, you’re being ridiculous. You can go and stay with some of your kind until school starts…”_

_“You do have friends you can go and stay with, don’t you Harry? They’ll have **wards** and things…”_

_“…Freaks like that Sirius Black could burn the house down around us all, and make us dance while they did it. You’ll be safer off with your own kind…”_

Harry gave up the attempt, and wrenched his gaze away to stare at the floor, with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t good enough to keep you out. I guess it was stupid to think I would be.”

Snape’s voice was soft, almost bewildered as he spoke. “They kicked you out. You didn’t run away of your own accord for your family’s sake, contrary to the impression you gave us in summer.”

“…I guess,” Harry mumbled. “I didn’t argue much about it. They might’ve changed their minds if I’d said the right things. I probably just mucked up somewhere.”

“Merlin curse that bitter fool of a woman,” Snape muttered. “And that Muggle idiot she married.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s not so bad. Aunt Petunia cares about me you know, and they do look after me pretty well. Most of the time. I got a hundred pounds from Uncle Vernon to help me get to a friend’s.”

“Whose house did you go to?” Snape asked intently.

Harry just shrugged again. “I’m sure my family will let me go back for summer. If Black is caught, at least. He’s a real danger to a Muggle family, you know.”

“Not with the ward around their home, he’s not.”

“They won’t rely on that. Even if you explained it to me so I could tell them about it. Which you totally _should_ ,” Harry said, with noticeable resentment creeping into his voice.

Snape sniffed. “Your mental shields are insufficient for the task. Well done for your relatively subtle attempt at deflecting the conversation to a preferred engaging topic of contention as a distraction, however.”

Harry brightened and stood up straighter. “Thank you, sir,” he said chirpily.

“If at the end of the year they are still not amenable to your presence, inform me and I shall exert myself in an attempt to persuade Professor Dumbledore to allow you to join a friend for the summer. Or perhaps to stay with one of the teachers.”

With a tilt of his head, Harry looked at his teacher thoughtfully. “You, sir?”

Snape physically recoiled at that. “Merlin, no!”

Harry felt a bit offended. It wasn’t like he really _wanted_ to stay with Snape, but it wasn’t a very nice reaction.

“Don’t be an idiot, Potter. Are you mad? Do I seem like the kind of man who would take well to fussing over a child? Am I known for my kindness and my approachable nature? I can barely tolerate children during the term, when I am paid to stuff as much information about Potions into your thick heads as I can manage. No, I am well aware of my deficiencies as a potential guardian and my likelihood of ever being able to be a gentle and patient father. As such I will suffer no intrusion into my sadly limited free time over summer.

“In addition to which, no wizard or witch in their right mind would approve me as the guardian of the Boy Who Lived, even temporarily. My unsavoury past, my lack of connections, and my paucity of money and assets, would all bar me from that opportunity – there’s not enough gold in Gringotts to make a bribe big enough to push that through the Ministry. No, I was thinking of Professors McGonagall or Flitwick. Either of those may be amenable to the idea as a temporary measure – they think well of you and have few other commitments.”

“You know I could look after myself.”

“No. You cannot.”

“Yes, I can, actually. I’m very good at it.”

But Snape was unpersuadable on that point, and eventually in his frustration with Harry he took ten points off Gryffindor for “inconceivable levels of arrogant obstinacy”, so Harry gave up arguing the topic and asked if he had permission to leave.

“Yes, in a moment. One last thing, Potter. Your friend Miss Granger met with me today and took me to task most impertinently for consistently marking you down in class, which frankly I did not appreciate nor deserve. She threatened to go to her Head of House and the Headmaster over the matter when I did not appear sufficiently amenable to her bluntly phrased demands.”

Harry winced. “Sorry sir. I didn’t know about that. I guess she’s just trying to help.”

“Indeed. Henceforth, you will find your choices more limited if you wish to maintain a façade of incompetence.”

With a sigh Harry pondered his options. He could drop the standard of his potion-making… but then he wouldn’t be able to stash away samples for his growing collection. And he _liked_ getting his potions right. He didn’t want to go back to doing lots of brewing after class like he and Neville used to, just to be sure they could do it right. He could try talking to Hermione about it, but honestly if that was going to work it should have already. She saw what looked like unfairness and was trying to stick up for him, which warmed his heart even if he wished she’d talked to him about it first. Well, sort of. He wouldn’t actually have wanted to explain himself, honestly.

“I could raise my grade?” he suggested hesitantly. “To whatever the potions deserve? I’ve had half a year at Exceeds Expectations standard, so perhaps that won’t seem too fast a change?”

Snape smiled thinly. “Very well.”

-000-

As usual for his History of Magic class on Wednesdays, Harry was working on his own studies, with his earplugs in to muffle Binns’ soporific drone. Today he’d chosen to read some chapters of Tracey’s gifted book for Yule, _The Fatal Shores_ , and was a much more interesting and informative book than the same boring class textbook they were using for _yet another_ year. It didn’t have as much in it about Dementors as he’d hoped, but it was chock full of information about Britain’s historical treatment of wizarding criminals, so Harry considered his duty to learn about magical history amply fulfilled.

Apparently the most serious criminals used to be sentenced to penal transportation. Their wands were snapped, and they were expelled from Britain. They used to sentence wizarding criminals for penal transportation to America (“The New World” or “Mundus Novus”), snapping their wands and expelling them permanently from Britain to live a “dreadful” life without magic, in a strange and hostile land where local shamans didn’t take kindly to foreign invaders trying to steal their magical secrets, and the local Muggles were religiously suspicious and ready to act against anyone accused of witchcraft.

The American Revolution of 1776 had put a stop to that – no longer could the Wizengamot conveniently mix their own unwanted with those of Muggle Great Britain onto ships bound for the New World, and the distance was too far to Apparate or fly. Wizards of that time period seemed very averse to travelling long distances on sailing ships, and though the book didn’t mention it Harry suspected portkeys were not yet invented at that time, or wouldn’t work across such long distances to an unfamiliar land.

Looking further afield once America was no longer an option, Australia (“Terra Australis”) had also temporarily served as a dumping ground for the petty criminals and religious rebels of the wizarding world from around 1790, until the convict era over there ceased around 1860. It seemed, however, that its reputation as a harsh land fit only for the rejects of the wizarding world was something it had yet to fully recover from, as this all happened a mere generation ago for the more long-lived wizards and witches, so attitudes lingered.

It was only in the most very recent era that Azkaban had been expanded massively as a prison, for the British Empire could no longer rid itself so conveniently of its criminals and dissidents. The Wizengamot struck a bargain in the mid 1800’s with the Dementors (who’d been terrorising Europe at that time) to feed on a select group of people, and no others. And thus Azkaban was renovated from a small fortress-like jail into the frightening Dementor-haunted edifice of bleak stone, and came properly into its own as Britain’s foremost (and gradually, sole) magical prison.

The book repeated the apparently common belief that Dementors fed on happiness and all positive thoughts, but Harry was personally convinced that the evidence suggested that Dementors in fact fed on the emotion of fear. _The Monster Book of Monsters_ said that _fairies_ fed on happiness – they revelled in the company of happy people to the point they’d volunteer to decorate Yule trees so they could encourage delight and wonder in those who saw them. Then they acted sort of drunk – full and giddy. At such times they needed less food, though they were usually omnivorous with voracious appetites.

Dementors clearly were trying to evoke the _opposite_ emotions in their wizarding prey – bringing out what Harry hypothesized were the darker or “ignoble” emotions, rather than the lighter “noble” tinted emotions. He thought possibly emotions might flavour one's magical aura, but it was just a theory. Clearly magic could be used or lost, and transferred to objects, but he didn’t know how it was stored in the body, and was wary of researching it ever since coming across that especially horrible book on the topic last year in the Restricted Section. He wondered if Dementors were related to Pogrebin, the little Russian creatures that evoked despair and sadness in their prey, or Boggarts, who preferred to evoke fear (or maybe just used it as a weapon). Were Dementors a cross-breed, or a spirit? Were they actually a type of ghost? They certainly floated like ghosts did.

Lost in his book and his musings, he was surprised to be called out by Binns on his inattentiveness - usually Binns didn’t notice. Neville had to nudge him to pay attention, of course, as he had his earplugs in.

The ghostly robed teacher looked cross with him. “Am I disturbing your novel reading, lad? You are here to learn _history_.”

“Sorry sir. But I _am_ learning history. It’s a book about the history of magical Britain, actually. It’s very good.”

Binns floated over to peer at the title suspiciously. “Hmph. I have never heard of that author, so I doubt he is a historian of any note. Your assigned textbook has everything you need to know in it. Learning history _properly_ is important.”

“Yes, it is,” muttered Harry angrily, remembering Anthony’s rant on the topic, and increasing in volume as he got into his stride. “When will be covering recent history, sir? Like World War Two, and Grindelwald’s participation in it? Or the rise of ‘You-Know-Who’? The impact of Muggle technology on wizarding society in the past hundred years? Britain’s exile of dissidents and criminals to America and Australia? Or ancient history, like the Roman invasion of Britain and the effects on the druid population and the melding of their traditions?”

Binns floated in place, blinking slowly at his unstoppable flow of speech.

“And what about countries _other_ than Britain? Egypt, Brazil, China? I for one would like to learn about Egyptian wizardry and the incredible powers of the pyramids and the spells and curses that were placed on them. And are we _ever_ going to cover the hidden Middle Kingdom of China, and the war the Emperor there prompted against the Lamas of Tibet who rejected his sovereignty? What about the Emperor’s détente with Japan’s mountaintop clans and the Kitsune nation, and the mudra magic-evoking hand gesture techniques of Japanese ninja magic users who don’t use wands? What about the yogic practices of the Indian wizards and their involvement in India’s First War of Independence in 1857? Can’t we learn about the trade agreements and alliances that kept wizards and witches in Vietnam united, and magic strictly _out_ of the Vietnam War? Wouldn’t _that_ be more interesting?”

“We are concerning ourselves primarily with Britain. We are _British_ wizards and witches. Now, turning to the war with the giants…”

“No! No more one-sided accounts of goblin rebellions, or genocides in response to giant uprisings. No more witch hunts where the role of Christianity is downplayed and the true death toll is erased, _obliterated_ , replaced with stories of Wendelin the Weird who liked to fake being burnt. People _died_ in those hunts, both magical _and_ normal. We died in our thousands, in _tens of thousands_ , all over Europe and America! Those weren’t just wizards and witches – lots of people were killed for following the wrong religion, or being heretics, or because of the accuser’s avarice or jealousy, or some petty dispute between neighbours. Lots of innocent people died because of totally false accusations of sorcery! A Muggle ‘witch’ couldn’t cast a hilarious Flame-Freezing Charm to get out of trouble! And a regular witch wouldn’t find it helped her either if she was sentenced to death by hanging with her hands tied behind her back!”

“It is Black, isn’t it?” Binns asked crossly and coldly.

“Yes sir, Antares Black. I’m in Slytherin,” lied Harry smoothly without hesitation, albeit angrily.

“For interrupting the class and questioning my authority that will be twenty points from Slytherin for your cheek, Mr. Black.” There was a chorus of muffled snickers from the back of the class.

“Did you have something you wished to add, O’Flaherty?” Binns asked Finnigan pointedly, who was grinning like a loon and the most unsuccessful in the class at smothering his giggles.

“Just that… Slytherin rules… and I love goblins,” he said, shoulders quaking with laughter and amusement thick in his voice.

“Another ten points from Slytherin! Keep it up and you’ll be serving a detention, young man!”

“Sorry, sir.” Finnigan snickered as quietly as he could, with his head down so the teacher would be less likely to notice.

After the emotional upset that had broken him out of his usual inattention to his class had subsided, Binns slipped back into his old pattern, droning on about the giant wars in the 1800’s as if nothing untoward had happened.

Harry sat and brooded, ignoring the glares from a few people angry at his disruption of the lesson, and the assessing looks from those who were presumably considering what he’d said (interestingly, this latter group included his former friend Ron). Harry realised that it didn’t matter what he said to Binns - he was a ghost of habit. Like most, he repeated the actions and thoughts he was most obsessed with at the time of his death. And as he’d quietly died in the middle of teaching a lesson (or so they said) in his case that focus was on the curriculum he’d been teaching to all his students at various year levels when he’d passed away.

Eventually Harry just returned to reading his book (albeit a little more covertly), earplugs back in. Hermione asked him after class for some book recommendations, and he lent her his copy of _Modern Magical World History_ and invited her to talk to Tracey if she wanted more book suggestions.

“I think I will, thanks Harry,” she said thoughtfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep in mind, if you’re bugged by Harry and Seamus passing as Slytherins, that in book canon (and in this fic) the Hogwarts uniform consists of black work robes, a black pointed hat (for formal occasions), and a black cloak with silver fastenings. In this fic series there’s no movie-canon colourful robe lining, no modern school uniform with a coloured tie, and no House badges. House members in my fic will sometimes show pride in their House affiliation by wearing hair ties or scarves of particular colours, especially at Quidditch matches, but colour-coded accessories are optional. Note also that in the books, Hermione leaves the Hogwarts Express compartment when the boys are getting changed, so it’s clearly not simply a matter of the work robes going on top of regular clothes. It’s a uniform in and of itself. Snape’s canonical humiliation by James turning him upside-down so the world could see his underwear also lends credence to the idea that robes are worn without trousers underneath.  
> Morgan Le Fay aka Morgen – the change in spelling here is deliberate, not a typo.  
> Stefan Bathory – thanks for the detailed historical information, inspiration, and beta help for the history section of this chapter.  
> JPElles – I hope you enjoyed learning more about Salazar and the origins of Parselmouths in the Slytherin line.  
> Toraach – thanks for the reminder to discuss goblin rebellions.


	19. Dead Men Do Tell Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns some fascinating things at Potter Watch meetings, Pansy and Hermione have an almost amicable chat, some new friends are made, and Harry receives a worrying letter.

Accompanied by Daphne and Tracey, Pansy smiled widely as she came over to the big wooden library table where Harry and his two Gryffindor friends had gathered for a study session and a chat one bright and sunny Saturday afternoon. They’d commandeered one of the larger old wooden tables near the windows, and sunlight streamed down upon the scrolls and books and Muggle notebooks scattered across its surface. Hermione had pronounced it just as good as being outside, and much warmer.

“I’m so proud of you for getting an O in Transfiguration for your Christmas homework,” Hermione said to Harry encouragingly. “You should keep it up! If you need help you only need to ask – it’s one of my best subjects. You’ve improved so much this year – Es and now an O for the first time!”

“Well, like I told Professor McGonagall, I’ve been very motivated to improve. What with Black on the loose,” he dissembled, rather embarrassed. Black’s escape had motivated him to study nasty curses and to work on his Shield Charm. Improving in Transfiguration was just about getting sick of putting in double the work of everyone else for a lower grade, which the Dursleys didn’t even _know or care about_. He’d wanted to spend his holiday with Draco having fun and reading his way through the Malfoy library, not re-writing his Transfiguration assignment.

“It shows! I knew you could do it if you tried,” she said happily. Neville nodded in quiet agreement.

As Pansy and her friends approached their table, Harry turned to her with a happy grin on his own. “Welcome back,” he said, putting a bookmark in his library text on Elder Futhark runes where he had been reading up on Sowilō, rune of the sun. _Shield of the clouds, and shining ray, and destroyer of ice_. So far he’d only read enough to realise how very little he knew about how to use Ancient Runes in rituals.

“Oh!” said Hermione, startled to see her. “Please have a seat, Parkinson.” She gestured politely to the empty chair next to her.

Harry beamed proudly. He was so happy to see Pansy returning to their group even after the attack at the station, and not making a fuss about sitting next to Hermione instead of him. And to top it off, Hermione was going out of her way to be polite and welcoming!

Pansy nodded to her as she sat, clearly not wanting to make a fuss by objecting. “Granger. So what is everyone working on today?”

“Ancient Runes,” Harry said, with a gesture at his book.

“Good afternoon, Parkinson. It’s Potions again for me,” said Neville.

“House-elf research!” Hermione said happily. “Since you’re here, you can help answer some questions. You too, Greengrass.”

Pansy’s smile became rather strained, and Neville laughed quietly. “No fear. It won’t be as bad as you are imagining right now, I promise,” he said. “This is something we all worked on together in the latest H.E.L.P. Society meeting.”

Daphne sat down next to Harry, and Tracey found a place opposite, sitting next to Pansy.

Grabbing a scroll out of a pile, Hermione dipped her quill in her inkpot and gave it a little tap on the side to shake off the excess ink, ready to write. “Could you please tell me which of the following statements you find most persuasive for making you consider improving the treatment of house-elves in regards to providing a better standard of clothing.

“One: Our family is well off enough to afford proper togas for _our_ house-elves. Two: A shabbily dressed house-elf is an embarrassment to the family due to its unattractive appearance. Three: It is traditional that all servants, even house-elves, get new raiment at the start of the new year. Four: A slovenly house-elf in stained garments leads one’s guests to think that the family’s house-elves are incompetent at cleaning tasks if they cannot even look after their own belongings.” Hermione waited expectantly for their answers, quill poised.

Pansy looked taken aback. “House-elves aren’t dressed the way they are because we’re _poor_!”

Hermione scribbled down a note with a mutter, “One.”

Tracey got Hermione to read her list again, before thoughtfully saying that she found the third argument most persuasive, and Hermione recorded her response.

“I agree with Pansy,” said Daphne. “The first one is the most worrying. I’d hate for people to think Grandma’s house-elf wears a pillowcase because she’s too poor to afford anything better! Do any people actually think that?” She looked a little concerned.

“Polling on the topic is inconclusive so far,” said Hermione vaguely. She exchanged a sly smile with Harry as Daphne talked worriedly about how she was going to encourage her Grandma to get her house-elf some cloth to make a toga with, just in case.

Harry spotted Anthony wander into the library with some of his Ravenclaw friends, and was about to wave him over when he remembered his manners. “Pansy, you always introduce a gentleman to the lady, right? It’s not the other way around?”

“That’s right. Why?”

“I want to introduce Anthony Goldstein and Tracey to each other – he just came into the library.”

Tracey looked up in surprise from her books to be so singled out. “Me?”

“Yes, he’s a history buff like you and I think you might get on well together. We sit together in Ancient Runes – he’s in Ravenclaw.”

“Is he here? Which one is he?” Daphne asked curiously, looking around for boys the right age that she didn’t know already. “I don’t know him except by name.”

“Blonde, blue eyes, kind of short?” Harry said, pointing him out.

“The one with Boot?” she asked, peeking discreetly at him with a sidelong glance.

“Yes, that’s him.”

“Family?” asked Pansy, turning to Daphne.

Daphne tilted her head thoughtfully. “Acceptable enough, though not pure-blood.”

There was an irritated huff from Hermione that Harry felt like echoing. “It’s just an introduction,” he said. “I’m not proposing some kind of family alliance. I like my friends to talk to each other, that’s all. And does it really matter what his background is?”

There was an awkward strained silence. “It is up to Tracey as to whether she wishes to permit the introduction,” pronounced Pansy.

“I don’t mind,” she said quietly. “If Daphne approves of him, that’s enough for me.” Daphne smiled happily at the proof of her influence with her friend.

And so Harry was granted leave to bring Anthony over to be introduced, who was amused to be warned of impending formality.

“It’s alright. I know the old etiquette rules, even if I don’t always follow them,” he said with a smile. “I have relatives who insisted.”

“Miss Tracey Davis, may I introduce my friend Mr. Anthony Goldstein?” Harry said formally.

“Charmed, Miss Davis,” he said, taking her hand to bow over it, to her embarrassment and Daphne’s restrained delight. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Potter speaks highly of you and your love of history.”

He pulled up a chair next to her, and soon enough they had relaxed out of their assumed air of formality and were chatting and arguing away animatedly like old friends. They started with the topic of Binns’ dreadful summer homework assignment that they shared a mutual distaste for, and were enjoying quibbling over what _precisely_ made it a ridiculous assignment.

“…You can’t deny that accusations of responsibility for causing the Black Death in the fourteenth century were levelled at a number of groups, not _just_ witches and wizards,” Anthony said to Tracey, waving his hands about with swooping gestures in the air as he spoke. “If anything, the climate was exceptionally _favourable_ to the magically talented in that century. Did you know that in 1391 the University of Paris made an official call to every person with divination abilities to come forward so they could record any prophecies about the future of France, in hopes of saving France from various difficulties? It was the start of their own Department of Mysteries – the ‘Chambre des Augures’ – founded openly within the university by the wizard and academic Jean de Gerson. It was only moved to Paris’ growing magical district of hidden catacombs underneath the Latin Quarter much later. The call for those with talent in divination to come forward was renewed later, in 1413 I think, and various Seers were _very_ popular at that time, and even sponsored by the Church.”

“It’s easy to underestimate the numbers of actual witches and wizards killed because of the involvement of the Templars in quietly ‘dealing’ with the troublemakers who dabbled too obviously in the Dark Arts,” Tracey insisted. “The Church didn’t want to start a panic – you can see that in how they quickly tried to condemn the _Malleus Maleficarum_ in 1484. They were more than happy to move against us, but it was only done _covertly_ in that era. They were still our enemy, though, _not_ our ally.”

Anthony shook his head. “The Templars, I’ll grant you that point – they were terrible people for all their supposed piety. But the _Malleus Maleficarum_ was almost a century later, you can’t use that to support your argument. The Church tolerated witches back then. Don’t forget about Joan of Arc, who flourished in that climate. The Church endorsed her power as a Seer fully. She was never accused of witchcraft, even when they were looking for charges to lay against her. They just weren’t particularly interested in moving against witches and wizards in that century.”

Hermione had pulled out a spare roll of parchment and seemed to be studiously taking notes with uncharacteristic quietness as they talked. Almost like she was in class.

“But surely that just proves my point!? “ Tracey insisted. “In the fourteenth century there was almost no _overt_ action against witches, but they still killed them quietly all the same. They wanted Joan dead no matter what – thus the trumped up threadbare charges against a witch who got too powerful! And of course those who cooperated with the Christians and renounced their faith and culture entirely were usually welcomed! But the _general_ climate wasn’t so accepting of witches and wizards who weren’t so interested in being assimilated. You _must_ agree on that, surely?”

Anthony nodded his hearty agreement. “Oh, definitely! Those who wouldn’t convert would suffer persecution and death for centuries afterwards. Binns is one of the few who wouldn’t agree, of course. But then, he’s still sticking to the old Christian-mollifying curriculum guidelines laid down by the Ministry in response to King Charles’ edicts.”

“Excuse me, which king was that? Charles the first or the second?” Hermione interjected politely. “And do you have any sources for your information?” Her quill was poised expectantly.

“King Charles I, in the 1600s,” Anthony clarified, so she could amend her notes. And then the three of them started discussing the king’s general dislike for witchcraft, and his particular interest in suppressing pagan or “Dark” elements of wizarding culture. They agreed that he’d played a pivotal role in pushing their world towards isolating itself in that century with the introduction of the Statute of Secrecy. They all split up after that to hunt for more information in the library stacks. Tracey was in search of the original text of the Statute, while Hermione, untrusting of someone’s word alone, went looking for some of the books the other two suggested she look up (though they’d warned her the Hogwarts library didn’t have them all), and Anthony was hunting for more information on King Charles I to share with the others.

“Granger is such a Ravenclaw,” Pansy murmured later to Harry while Hermione was distracted. “Even more so than Tracey, I do declare. Fancy polling people to find out how best to manipulate them. I can see why she was never going to get Sorted into Slytherin, but how in Merlin’s name did she ever end up in Gryffindor?”

Harry shrugged. “Same way a few of us did – she argued with the Hat.”

Pansy’s snorting laugh was kept as quiet as she could manage. “So that is how you ended up there too? Our poor little lost Slytherin.”

“Hey, I like being in Gryffindor! It works both ways, you know. There’s people who argued their way into Slytherin – the Hat told me so.”

Daphne hadn’t even bothered to get any of her schoolwork out of her bag, she was too busy watching the socialising. “Millicent will be disappointed she missed this,” Daphne smirked, gesturing minutely with her head and a flick of her eyes towards where Anthony had returned to sit at the table and was chatting excitedly with Tracey about why they learnt about goblin _rebellions_ but not goblin _wars_ – you only spoke of rebellions when you felt you had the right to rule over a group.

Tracey smiled and leant in towards him to listen attentively before chiming in with her own anecdotes about the history of goblin relations with wizarding society and how they were effectively a conquered nation with Peregrini class citizenship.

Hermione returned from her quest for knowledge and put an enormous pile of books down on the table near them with a thump that made them both jump and sit up straighter in their chairs. She chattered brightly about the Statute of Secrecy, leaping into their conversation happily, which neither seemed to particularly object to – at least not out loud.

“Missed what?” said Harry, sneaking a particularly interesting looking book about the Statute out of Hermione’s pile to browse while she was distracted. “I know her grades are good but she doesn’t really like History that much, you know. You mean meeting Anthony? I’m sure they can catch up another time, without my life-threatening presence around.” He sighed sadly. He missed Millicent’s steady quiet friendship, and wished her father wasn’t so strict – though he did understand their worries. “Oh, and they’ll see each other tomorrow at Potter Watch, anyway. Plenty of guards around to keep her safe.”

Daphne rolled her eyes at him. “Never mind, Harry.” She didn’t stay aggrieved with him for long – she was distracted by Hermione’s retelling of Harry’s epic rant against Professor Binns. Anthony embarrassed Harry by giving him a standing ovation, and Tracey joined in the applause as the others all laughed good-naturedly, until Madam Pince stopped by their table with shrill threats to evict them from the library if they couldn’t keep their chatter down.

-000-

In the junior Potter Watch group Harry looked around at the students keeping an eye out for trouble as Percy ran them through some paired spellcasting, and noticed that one young blonde witch didn’t have any shoes on.

“Excuse me, miss?”

She paused in her duel and when she turned to face Harry, she got hit with a Jelly-Legs Jinx by her smirking partner. Harry recognised her as Luna Lovegood – Ginny’s friend. She was in the H.E.L.P. Society too, so he was reasonably familiar with her though they hadn’t talked much – he tried to discourage Ginny’s increasingly obvious crush gently by not talking with her very often, and Lovegood kind of got caught up in the wake of that pattern of avoidance. However, the pair weren’t working together today.

“One moment please,” Harry said, holding up a hand to halt her current partner. “ _Finite._ Lovegood, isn’t it? I couldn’t help but notice you showed up here today without any shoes or boots. That doesn’t seem very comfortable or safe, so I was wondering why that is.”

She smiled at him. “Oh, some Nargles took my shoes again. I’m sure they will bring them back sooner or later. They usually do.”

“Nargles? I regret to say I’m unfamiliar with those creatures.”

“Oh, they’re dreadful thieves. It’s been worse since Yule as they like to infest mistletoe, you know,” she explained earnestly.

Luna’s training partner snickered at her. “There’s no such thing as Nargles. She’s a bit touched. Loony, loony Lovegood,” she said in a sing-song tone. Lovegood didn’t look upset, but her gaze grew distant and wandered off to one side as if there was something interesting but invisible in the air there for her to watch.

“Indeed?” said Harry, growing very irritated. “Just like how ‘everyone’ in the Muggle world knows there’s no such thing as unicorns or dragons? Do you have a Mastery in magical creatures, then? Can you tell me what _did_ happen to Lovegood’s shoes?”

“…No, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“Please ask Weasley to find you a new partner or pair to work with. I’ll work with Lovegood for now.” Harry wished he could take points from Ravenclaw. He would have to speak with Percy about the situation and to keep an eye on that one – as Head Boy Percy _could_ take points if required. He did so at most meetings in fact – it helped keep order in the group.

The other girl slunk off, looking a bit embarrassed, and Lovegood’s eyes focused back on Harry as she beamed happily at him. “Thank you, Potter.”

“You’re welcome. You know, if you have a problem with Nargles in your dorm you really should speak to Professor Flitwick about it. I’m sure he’d be happy to help solve the mystery of your missing shoes.”

Her gaze drifted away dreamily again. “Oh, I rather think I shouldn’t. Maybe they will be happy playing with my shoes for now and leave the rest of my things alone. Nargles sometimes get worse if they are provoked, you know.”

 _Yes_ , _I know_ , he thought to himself. He suspected bullies rather than magical creatures were to blame for her shoeless state, but whichever one it was should be dealt with.

“But I would guess that if you don’t deal with them correctly, they just won’t ever stop. They’ll keep being a problem stealing things. Do you have friends in Ravenclaw who could help you? Or some peace offerings you could give the Nargles?”

She shook her head. “I don’t have any friends. And I don’t know what the Nargles want to make them stop. Daddy says Dirigible plums help keep them away, and he’s planted a bush at home, and when some plums grow we’re going to turn them into earrings.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully, wondering what had happened to her friendship with Weasley. No doubt being in different Houses made it difficult – many found it so. “Well, let’s think about it a little more. I’ll ask some friends of mine in Ravenclaw if they’ve also noticed a Nargle problem. For now, let’s keep working on our spells.” He thought he would ask someone to keep an eye on her, maybe Morag MacDougal, but didn’t want to say anything explicit out loud.

“Thank you, Potter,” she said dreamily. “I like being in your club. It’s almost like having friends.”

-000-

The eerie feeling of cold was bitingly painful as Harry stood near the trunk his senior Potter Watch group usually kept their captured Boggart in, while others practised their Patronus Charms against his Boggart-Dementor with mixed success. It was a great idea, and on an intellectual level he could appreciate how useful it was that someone had caught one over Yule for them to practice on, but it wasn’t a lot of fun for him on a personal level.

He liked the middle group that he ran himself the best. Half an hour ago he’d had the chance to mix with all his friends. Anthony had spent half the meeting talking to Tracey, while her friends giggled together. He’d had a rare chance to gossip briefly with Millicent about Quidditch. Ron had thanked him for being such a good teacher and he felt like maybe they could be friends again one day. Two new students had learnt how to cast the Shield Charm. And he hadn’t had to listen to his parents dying, over and over again, with ever-increasing painful clarity of memory. Snatches of sensation, flickers of visions. It was dreadful. It was wonderful.

“ _There’s a jinx up!_ ” he heard a woman – his mother – cry out despairingly, as his tiny body was clutched in her arms with painful tightness. “ _I can’t Disapparate!_ ”

“ _Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off-_ ”

His father. The only memory he had of him – a flash of dark hair and a deep voice speaking his last words.

Harry heard the rapid thumping of his mother’s feet as she raced up the stairs, and the harsh pants of her panicked breathing.

“ _I’m sorry, baby. Mummy’s so sorry…_ ” he heard, and then there was only the sound of his mother sobbing. There was a sharp pain blossoming in his forehead, then there was a child crying – his infant self – as his mother apologised through her tears. “ _Mummy didn’t want to hurt you, but she had to_.”

Harry strained to listen further. His forehead was cut _before_ the Dark Lord arrived, in defiance of everything the history books stated, with their wild speculation masquerading as historical fact.

“ _Sowilō_ ,” she murmured. Her hand was on his forehead, wiping away the blood. Her hand on the wound was his second memory of his mother’s touch, after being crushed in her arms going up the stairs. In the club room that he was barely aware of anymore, Harry’s teeth chattered and his legs started to crumple.

“Alright there, Harry? Do you need a break?” came a concerned voice, and Harry snapped out of his dazed recollections, back to the present day. He was being pushed by Percy to sit in a chair at the side of the classroom.

With Lee Jordan facing it the Boggart transformed into a Nundu, a deadly magical creature that looked a bit like a large leopard. The Riddikulus Charm with some mental focus transformed it into a kitten version of itself batting at a ball of wool, and a couple of students co-operated to magically shove it back into the chest they’d been keeping the creature stored in.

“J-just for a m-minute,” Harry said with chattering teeth. Derrick passed him a chocolate frog which he ate gratefully, feeling warmth return to his frozen fingers and toes.

After a while he was ready to go again – there were still students awaiting their turn, and he couldn’t let them down. His own suffering wasn’t as important as their need to get the spell right, after all – being able to perform the Patronus Charm might save their souls one day. Besides, he wanted to see more – he knew his mother would plead with the Dark Lord before she died, her body hitting the ground next to his cradle with a terrible soft thud, in a blinding flash of green light. He wanted to see the moments before that, and that required a lengthy exposure to Dementors – or their Boggart version. While a Boggart was unable to emulate the full powers of the creatures it impersonated, it was good enough to trigger the flashbacks he both feared and craved.

It was while Flint tried casting his Patronus that he got the best visions, for he stood there scowling as he unsuccessfully tried over and over again to master a spell that was apparently well beyond his capabilities.

His mother’s voice whispered in his ear as he felt her stroke his hair gently with dry hands – his blood cleaned from them. “ _Triumph. Now you should be as untouchable as Baldur was. It’s the best I can do, Harry. Just one more thing is needed to activate it._ ”

She kissed the top of his head, lips brushing against the baby-soft fine hair and he sobbed as he was placed in his cot, head aching, reaching for his mother with tiny pudgy hands.

“ _Mama! Up! Up, Mama! Dada!_ ” His body twitched with the remembered terror of hearing the sounds of his father’s screams downstairs cut out. A thud, and then… silence. The sound of the door being slammed open as Lord Voldemort strode into the room, demanding the girl stand aside – he would spare her if she did.

That was it! He’d seen it all now! Even through the daze of biting cold and immersed in painful recollections, Harry felt a burst of triumph. Dementors – such useful creatures. The world warmed and Harry’s vision returned to him, and he saw Professor Dumbledore standing smiling before him in lurid purple robes with regal scarlet phoenixes on them.

His voice oozed false sympathy, “I think your snake rather gives it all away, Heir-”

“ _Silencio!_ ” Derrick cast helpfully at the Boggart, and a couple of students moaned disappointedly about how they wouldn’t get another chance at testing their skills again against a power-neutered Dementor.

They tried a couple more times, but the Boggart now refused to turn into anything for Harry but Dumbledore. Harry just wasn’t scared enough of Dementors anymore. He knew his Hippocampus genius would protect him, and he _wanted_ to see visions of his parents again – now he truly appreciated the Dementor’s presence it refused to manifest for him. The Boggart only grasped at fears, not wishes. At least he got to practice the Riddikulus Charm, dressing Dumbledore like a rapper from the 80’s with a backwards hat and a boom box on his shoulder, to the mystification of some but the amusement of almost all.

-000-

Draco was worried about the plans for the upcoming Imbolc celebration at the end of January, and talked it over in quiet whispers with Harry during Care of Magical Creatures, claiming him quickly at the start of class as his partner to feed fairies with.

“As we are in third year now we are assigned the smaller menhir as our location, but there are _still_ Dementors all through the forest, and none of the year leaders really know what to do – everyone’s waiting on Professor Snape’s advice. Some people are worried if you are there then Sirius Black might show up, too. There is talk of celebrating in the Snake’s Den, of course, but then you and all the other adherents in other Houses will miss out, and most people do _want_ to include you. Sadly, even the lake’s edge doesn’t feel safe with those _wretched_ creatures about.”

“We could try propitiating them? With some black beans, or a sacrifice of a black ram, or something?” suggested Harry. “I’ve got a few notes on that written down uh… somewhere. Maybe that would keep them distracted and away from a bit of lakefront?”

“I think that may be unwise…” Draco said, with a sceptical look. “The risk seems too high, either of being attacked, or being caught where we shouldn’t be. Do _you_ want to be apprehended by the Headmaster filling a trench with ram’s blood and wine to distract the Dementors?”

Harry shivered as he thought about the possible consequences. “I thought you were going to try and convince your father to use his influence with the Minister to send them all back to Azkaban?”

“I asked him about it at Yule, but he said the Ministry obviously has its reasons for sending them here after Sirius Black, and he wouldn’t presume to interfere,” sulked Draco.

“Hmm.” Harry wondered what that was all about. “Was he smiling when he said it?”

Draco looked thoughtful. “No, not really. He looked quite serious, actually. You suspect an ulterior motive of some kind?”

“Maybe. What do you think? Is he just being respectful of the Ministry’s decision?”

After a moment of reflection, Draco shook his head. “No. He wouldn’t be supportive without a good reason to endorse such a measure, especially since one attacked us. He’s polite about Minister Fudge, but he doesn’t truly respect him. I think you are right, he must have his own reason as well. What do you think he’s up to?”

Harry shrugged. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “It’s a shame they’re still around - it leaves us pretty stuck. And Storm has been looking forward to joining in. He’s promised to make it rain – he’s been practising.”

“Inside Hogwarts?”

In the Chamber of Secrets, to be precise, though he didn’t want to admit that. “Yeah. I’ve gotten pretty good at the Hot-Air Charm to dry off.”

“Pansy and I will work something out. I shall keep you updated.”

-000-

With all his Time-Turner repeats of the day finished, Harry lounged on his bed reading his evening’s mail, as was his habit. The other boys were used to his hissed commentary to Storm, and ignored it pretty amicably so long as he didn’t keep it up too late at night when they were trying to sleep.

“ _Here’s another request for a photo – thiss one has come all the way from Italy. I ssstill don’t understand why anyone wantss one_ ,” he said, scrawling his fan’s name on a pre-signed photograph (taken by Creevey) and popping it in a manila envelope before giving it to the waiting owl. Professor Lockhart was quite right – having them ready was very handy.

“ _More people should ask for one of me_ ,” Storm groused.

“ _Another ad from a shop, phrased as a ssspecial shopping opportunity_ ,” Harry said, placing that letter in the discard pile before opening a couple more letters. “ _Here’s two more letterss wishing me luck in ssstaying sssafe and avoiding Black, and hoping he getss his sssoul sssucked out by a Dementor. And here’ss one hoping I kill him myself next time I sssee him. Oh – they’ve included instructionss on how to cast the Blasting Curse – Confringo – which apparently was the one that killed Pettigrew. And it also took out the Muggle bystanderss of course but the writer doesn’t bother mentioning those. They sssuggest it would be a delightfully ironic and appropriate choice for a ssspell to use to kill Black, and wish to assure me it’ss a legally tolerated curse.”_ He scribbled out some brief notes of thanks, and sent them back with the senders’ owls. He tucked the letter with spell instructions inside a notebook, for later study.

“ _This one’s from a politician in Norway – Sssolveig Eriksen – it ssseems to be an offer to assist with the required paperwork if I ever wish to visit her country, and politely mentionss their government’s tolerance for what Britain often considers ‘Dark’ traitss, sssuch as being a Parselmouth. Then there’s a bit about their vampire tourist industry during winter, as evidence of what a wonderfully open-minded country they are. Interesting! It would have been more sssubtle if she hadn’t included information about how to apply to Durmstrang. Well, it’s a nice thought, I guesss_.”

He tucked her letter away for safekeeping, just in case, and wrote her a nice reply promising to get in touch if he ever planned a visit to Norway.

He’d saved the last two more interesting looking letters for last – another formal looking letter with a wax seal, but with some exotically foreign-looking stamps on it, and a package which didn’t have the sender’s name on the outside, but was promisingly book-shaped.

“ _The interesting-looking letter is from Misss Kanj – do you remember her? She’s written a letter of introduction for her associate Mr. Ali Bashir. There’ss a letter tucked in next to herss from him. Apparently he’s been in argumentss lately with Mr. Crouch in the Department of International Cooperation about the embargo on flying carpetss, which are defined as a Muggle Artefact even though broomss aren’t. They want to get carpetss off the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objectss. Oh, what a messs. I don’t know why they think I can help._ ”

He gave it a little thought, then wrote a quick reply apologising for his lack of connections that could help them, and suggesting that if the core problem was competition with the broomstick makers, perhaps pushing for trade in _second-hand_ magic carpets would do – making them a luxury vintage item with a deliberately high price and thus less likely to impact on the market for broomsticks by flooding the market with new products. Not that he really knew anything about business. But he wanted to try and help. He also scrawled his generic best wishes for their endeavours. He signed off formally as the Heir of the Noble House of Potter, and sealed the envelope with a blob of wax imprinted with the House crest from his Heir ring.

With a happy hum he turned to his parcel and unwrapped the nondescript brown paper from around a book, revealing a copy of the second edition of _Easy Spells to Fool Muggles_ , and a letter addressed to “My Gryffindor Knight”. The letter slipped from his suddenly unsteady hands.

“ _It’s from Quirrell,_ ” he hissed. “ _He’s ssstill alive_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ali Bashir’s troubles with importing magic carpets into the UK appear in canon in Chapter Seven of HP & the Goblet of Fire.  
> Harry’s scar shape – Note that I tend to follow book canon for my fics, not movie canon. In many of the book covers and illustrations, including in an image hand-drawn by JRK, Harry’s scar is a jagged S or Sowilō shaped lightning bolt, located on his forehead slightly off centre above his right eye. In the movies it is more clearly above his right eye, and a reversed mirror image.  
> Sweetangieb – Here’s Luna and Harry starting to make friends ahead of the canonical schedule, as requested. I thought it sounded like fun, so decided to include this idea - I hope you enjoyed it!  
> Ainulinde – Thanks for your beta help with my scene with Anthony this chapter.  
> Stefan Bathory – Thanks for the detailed historical information, inspiration, and beta help for the history section of this chapter.  
> SirLordLonKirk – Some international mail for you at last!  
> Viator – A little section about people’s reactions to Harry’s improved Transfiguration grade added for you. Thanks for the idea.  
> Archer27 – Congrats on somehow managing to leave me double kudos on “Parseltongue is Really Very Ordinary”! :) Did you sign in on different devices and leave kudos via both, perhaps?  
> ClaMiAl, harmless bystander, Over.Thinking.Daily.Life, and all my other reviewers – Thanks again for your lovely reviews. :)  
> Kitty, Gioia, and paulvik7175 – Thanks for the typo catches! Gioia, it’s taken me a while to get around to it, but I’ve now fixed the problem with using “EE” instead of the more correct “E” for the grade abbreviation (on AO3).  
> AO3 is much easier to edit fics on than FFN, however, so unfortunately for now the copies of my fics on AO3 remain the most typo-free versions. Don’t be shy folks – if you ever spot an error you’re welcome to politely let me know about it.


	20. Owl Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry worries over his letter from Quirrell, and struggles with sending his reply.

**_January 1994_ **

_“Quirrell sssent me a letter,_ ” Harry hissed, staring at the letter in shock.

Storm’s tongue flicked out to taste the air. “ _Is that a problem? I thought you liked him? He liked me. He wrote nice thingss about sssnakess, remember?_ ”

“ _But what if he’s actually possessed by Tom Riddle? Or the Dark Lord? What if he’s actually my enemy?_ ”

“ _But he sssent you a present,_ ” his snake countered, ever practical.

Harry picked up the letter to read quietly to himself.

_To My Gryffindor Knight,_

_I am sorry for being such a dilatory correspondent, and I deeply regret the distress I no doubt have caused you in ceasing my communications so abruptly. I assure you I am doing quite well now, and I thank you for your previous offers of assistance._

_I can only hope that you can forgive me when you understand that I have been travelling in remote areas in a desperate search of a cure for my condition, where communication by owl is nigh impossible due to the distances involved. Perhaps you will be pleased to hear that my health is currently greatly improved, and I have now returned to England and am well settled in now at a new location with someone available to tend to my needs while I convalesce, with only one other patient they also need to tend to. So you see it is rather a luxurious private nursing situation compared to St. Mungo’s, excellent though that institution is for the common man suffering from more ordinary ailments. There is also hope for a permanent cure, though that may be some time away yet. There are some rare ingredients that will need to be gathered for the ritual, and the timing must be right according to some complex Arithmantic calculations. Midsummer, the summer solstice in June, appears to be quite propitious yet I do not know if I shall have the strength and the ingredients to be ready in time for carrying it out this calendar year. We shall see._

_Following on from our regrettably interrupted discussion of the use of the Obliviate spell, I thought you may be interested in perusing this book which covers a variety of other spells in popular use for hiding evidence of the wizarding world from Muggles. Consider it a belated Yule gift! Some of these spells are in popular use while others only tend to be employed by professional Obliviators who guard our people from discovery. Do read up on the Muggle-Repelling Charm in particular – another example of how we are fundamentally a different race from them, for this spell has no effect on our kind. Perhaps one day you would like to investigate its effects on Squibs and Muggle-borns, compared to those from more pure family lines. I do hope this gift in some small way ameliorates your disappointment over my lack of correspondence, and I do hope you had a pleasant Yuletide celebration! I received some very nice gifts from a couple of old friends, and I hope you did likewise_.

_I have been very interested to follow the tales of your “Battles with the Basilisk” that Mr. Lockhart has boasted about in several interviews. I look forward to reading the book which I understand will soon be released. Yet I hope you will forgive me my scepticism – there were some elements of his tale which did not quite ring true. Could I perhaps tempt you to share a fuller version of the true proceedings within the Chamber of Secrets? I will of course keep any narrative that contradicts the official chronicle of events in the strictest of confidence._

_Please convey my greetings to Storm, and let him know that I have acquired a snake familiar of my own! Her name is Nagini, and she is a magical species of reticulated python from Indonesia. She is a pretty green colour with a diamond pattern on her scales, about four foot long, and has been acquired with some difficulty due to her rarity and venomous nature._

_I have missed our exchange of post which brings such comfort to me during my infirmity, and I hope to hear from you again soon._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Your Slytherin Mentor_

Harry was elated, and worried. He was such a roiling mix of emotions he didn’t know what to feel, or how to react. He was thrilled to hear Quirrell was alive… and yet… what if Quirrell wasn’t Quirrell at all? The evidence he’d pieced together suggested it was likely Quirrell was either lying through his teeth while working for the Dark Lord, under the Imperius, or possibly possessed by Tom Riddle... Lord Voldemort. He thought that last option was disturbingly plausible, and the thought that his parents’ murderer (or a still-loyal follower of his) might be trying to make friends with him was both bewildering and infuriating. Was there something deeply wrong with him that he _wanted_ to be friends with such a man?

Storm had no compunctions about pronouncing him a “ _very nice man_ ” on the grounds that he’d sent cordial greetings to Storm. Not as nice as Millicent, who gave him snacks, but obviously he was a man of good taste and distinction. There could be little wrong with a man who appreciated snakes enough to want to own one himself as a pet.

-000-

Harry eventually resorted to taking one of his cached Sleeping Draughts to finally quiet the roiling thoughts in his mind that wouldn’t subside any other way. He brooded about his letter all the next day. He thought about asking Merlin more about Tom and how you might possess someone… but worried that if the ever-watchful snake gargoyles heard a whisper that the _old_ Heir of Slytherin was still alive, they might turn against him. So he kept his enquiries very general, and learnt that Tom had visited a number of times, and enjoyed learning about the ancient history of their race. And that beneath his courtesy and veneer of confidence he’d been a bitter young man who resented being treated like a nobody orphan with no prospects despite his manifest and varied talents, and hated being sent back to the orphanage in the middle of the London Blitz. He’d taken great pride in hearing of his connection to Salazar Slytherin.

It was all very interesting, but didn’t tell Harry anything particularly useful to help him resolve what to do about his current dilemma.

The library furnished nothing helpful to guide him that he hadn’t already read and discarded as useless. Tales of the war in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Modern Magical History_ yielded a lot of accounts of events, but very little speculation about what drove the losing side to start their terroristic acts in the first place. For a Dark Lord alleged to hate Muggles with a desire to rule over them, Harry thought the Muggle death toll was in fact amazingly small. He noticed that neither book mentioned the fact that the “Light” side’s Aurors had been authorised to use the Killing Curse. A fact that Quirrell had once told him, and that the book _Unforgivable Curses and their Legal Implications_ had confirmed, buried in some rather dry text in chapter four.

Eventually, he decided to learn from the example set by his Slytherin friends that had worked effectively on himself in the past – he would try and bluff the information out of Quirrell, by confidently acting as if he knew more than he did. He laboured over his letter in the privacy of the musty and magically lit study of Salazar Slytherin at his “requisitioned” desk, and eventually after many crossly scrunched up and discarded drafts put together a carefully crafted short letter that would hopefully provoke some kind of informative response.

_“I got your letter. But I know exactly who you are now, **Riddle**. I was just a baby when you tried to kill me, and killed my parents. What harm could a baby do to you? I might not be pure-blood, but wizarding children are so few – even if my parents were your enemies for some reason why wouldn’t you spare me? And given you tried to kill me then, and again during Quidditch in my first year at Hogwarts, why do you keep trying to befriend me now? It doesn’t make sense, for surely it can’t gain you anything any longer. Especially now I know your hidden identity. I’m giving you just one chance to explain yourself.”_

He’d thought about threatening to show his collection of letters to Dumbledore, or the Ministry, but concluded that he didn’t want the potential trouble he might bring down upon himself by issuing threats. The implication was there anyway, surely?

He’d see what “Quirrell” said first, before deciding what to do next. He still wasn’t completely sure Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort. But bluffs tended to trip _him_ up, so maybe they’d work on Quirrell too. His answer would surely give a clue one way or the other. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped that somehow, there was another explanation. Maybe Quirrell really _was_ sick, and had some other reason for lying about what House he was in at school. Harry hoped that one of the kindest adults he’d ever met wasn’t really someone who’d tried to kill him, perhaps multiple times. He wanted Quirrell to write back, all angry and sad about Harry’s accusations, and explain why he was wrong.

Using the Time-turner to return to four o’clock, he emerged from the boys’ bathroom to greet the Weasley twins who’d waited for him outside. They were his current rostered Potter Watch shadows for the day who were dogging his footsteps that afternoon just in case of a surprise attack by Sirius Black.

“It feels funny, doing what Percy told us to,” commented one.

“Most unnatural,” agreed the other. “I think I might be coming down with something – I’m feeling quite nauseous at the thought of it.” Harry still couldn’t tell them apart, and they were absolutely no help in teaching anyone how to.

“I’ve got to go to the Owlery, if you want to walk me there?”

“Sure thing, Potter.”

It was odd, though. The school owl wouldn’t take his letter anywhere. It just kind of fluttered around for a moment, and then landed back next to him.

“I think that owl is broken,” suggested a twin. “Try a different one.”

But he had the same problem again. “He must have wards up, or something. Can you wait outside for a second? In case you being here is doing something weird?”

They looked at each other, and shrugged their compliance. But that didn’t make a difference, either.

Harry frowned down at his letter. He knew that “Slytherin, England” was a pretty vague direction, but it’d always been enough in the past. Maybe he needed a better quality owl. He remembered Quirrell – or the man he had thought was Quirrell – saying something once about needing a skilled owl to reach him. It was a pity the most recent post owl hadn’t hung around to collect a return message, like they used to. It probably wouldn’t have wanted to wait a whole day for a response, anyway.

The next day he tried asking Professor Hagrid about how magical post-owls differed from regular owls, but he seemed disinterested and uninformed about the topic. They probably weren’t dangerous enough for his tastes, being “rather borin’ critters”. He didn’t seem much more enthused to be teaching them about Puffskeins, which were basically harmless little balls of fuzzy custard-coloured fur.

Since it was almost the weekend anyway, Harry decided to wait to talk to Professor Lupin, with Neville in tow, on Saturday for their tea and a chat. He was good with magical creatures too.

-000-

Neville’s parents were a few years ahead of Lupin at Hogwarts and he didn’t have a lot of tales to tell about them. However, Neville was delighted to hear Lupin’s story of his father wooing his mother with gifts of flowers at the breakfast table. Harry, on the other hand, was less thrilled with the tale of how his own mother had flatly rejected one of his father’s earlier attempts to impress her, when James Potter and his friends sang a love song in four-part harmony. James was still on bended knee shuffling after her awkwardly as she tried to walk away, with his friends trying to stick to their harmony and not ruin it by laughing too much.

“She… didn’t want to be with him?” he asked plaintively.

“She did in the end!” laughed Lupin. “But she took some persuading. She found it a bit funny I think, but embarrassing. They didn’t start dating until seventh year.”

He liked the story about James’ Quidditch success as a Chaser a lot better, even if it sounded – just a little – like his father cheated a bit, blagging the opposition’s Seeker by grabbing the tail of their broomstick when they were just about to get the Snitch, so his team’s other two Chasers could score a critical last minute goal.

Lupin was adamant they’d had it coming. “Slytherin had done the same thing to the Gryffindor Seeker three times that match alone! Not to mention two of them cobbing James in the side with some rather sharp elbows. He was bruised for a week.”

“Do you have any stories about when they were together, after Hogwarts?” Harry asked.

“Not a lot,” admitted Lupin. “We… drifted apart after a year or two. Oh! I can tell you your father was very excited when he heard Lily was pregnant. Do you know I heard some gossip from Peter that your mother was the one who picked your name. Apparently your father apparently wanted to call you Fleamont, Hardwin, or Alphard, and she hated all of those names, and put her foot down.” He chuckled at the memory, and Harry laughed with him, though Neville just smiled, not finding the names as odd and amusing as Harry did.

“They both liked James, though, so that was a good compromise for a second given name, in keeping with the Potter traditions. Your father hoped she would go for a traditional family name for the first one too, but he could never say no to anything she really wanted. She could be very stubborn, but he loved her for it.”

“Did… did they ever suspect Black? Of working for… You-Know-Who?” asked Harry.

“No, they never suspected him at all. I didn’t either,” he said with a sigh, sipping his tea slowly. “It was a difficult time for many, with no-one knowing who to trust. They worried that someone in their circle was passing information to the Dark Lord, but they didn’t think it was Black.”

A slightly bitter tone to his voice, and a twist of a frown gave Harry a clue when combined with his remembrance of an earlier comment about drifting apart from his dad. “Did they suspect _you_? You didn’t follow him, did you?”

Professor Lupin looked very startled at the questions. “Well, uh, yes, they did suspect me actually. It rather damaged my friendship with your father near to the end, I’m sorry to say. I didn’t follow You-Know-Who, of course. I was no Death Eater.”

There was something… something in his voice as he said it, perhaps a touch too stridently, that made Harry wonder. Certainly the Dark Lord was known to have many werewolves working with him, in the last war.

“It was a long time ago, Harry. I don’t blame your parents. The pressures of the war were difficult for many of us. I’ve long since moved on.”

It was a relief to Professor Lupin when Harry changed the topic to talk about the intricacies of how owls found people the letters were addressed to. He speculated about different theories, such as that it was the result an Arithmantically-focused ritual curse laid millennia ago in Greece by Athena (whom some speculated was possibly a witch) on formerly ordinary owls, and the more popular theory that they were a naturally occurring intelligent magical creature (as there were magical owls found worldwide, not just in Europe).

“How do they know who to take the letters to? Do they ever get it wrong, or refuse to deliver a letter?” Harry asked, eventually honing in on what he really wanted to ask.

“Well they can fail to deliver letters if there are spells in effect, of course,” Lupin explained. “There are Repelling or Disguising charms that will deter or misdirect all owls, which the Ministry believes Black is renewing regularly, for instance. More long-lasting and complicated effects require wards, which are more difficult to cast. Or if the letter is poorly addressed you may run into trouble, such as if you use a name or title that the recipient doesn’t actually have any magical attachment to.”

Professor Lupin had a faraway look in his eyes as he continued, “I remember once that… a friend tried sending a drunken letter to a girl he met at the pub. He addressed it to ‘That groovy-looking bird I met at the Leaky Cauldron last night’. It didn’t work, of course.”

“ _Groovy bird_?” Harry asked with an incredulous laugh.

Lupin smiled. “He went through a phase of using a lot of Muggle slang. He said it drove his mother mad. Madder. Anyway, the point of the anecdote is that a vague description will never suffice for a direction. You need a name or a title.”

Harry frowned. “I heard you could have letters delivered with just a nickname, something they were fond of being called? What’s the vaguest address an owl could cope with?”

“Hmm. Sometimes a nickname will do, especially if you pretty much live as that identity. Titles can work, as I already mentioned. Professor Dumbledore can receive letters addressed to ‘The Headmaster of Hogwarts’, and would no doubt strengthen such links by his habit of regularly using all his titles in his correspondence. A letter to ‘Harry Potter’ would reach you, even though your full name is Harold James Potter. ‘The Boy Who Lived’ might or might not reach you, depending on if you’re very attached to that title? It does have the weight of popularity behind it – recognition can add magical weight to things, but you need a sense of personal ownership too.”

“No, I’m not that keen on it. I’m not sure I’ve gotten any letters addressed like that,” he said thoughtfully, “but then I don’t always pay attention to the address.”

“How about just ‘Potter’? Or ‘Harry’ on its own?” asked Neville, joining in with his own curious question.

“Too many ‘Harrys’ in the world,” said Lupin with a shake of his head. “A well-trained bird might cope with ‘Potter’, however, as I believe you’re the only wizard in England left to bear the family name, I’m very sorry to say.”

“Does training of the owls matter?”

“It may if you’re talking about more difficult deliveries. The best ones can bypass weakly cast or fading spells or wards, cope with more vague addresses or even no address at all so long as you give them a verbal instruction, and carry parcels beyond the weight you’d expect an owl could cope with.”

That evening, Harry borrowed Draco’s owl to try sending his letter to Quirrell. Draco was puffed up with vanity at the request and happy to help when Harry explained that he assumed that his owl would surely be a well-trained and superior bird. Hermione’s owl Diana had already failed to accept his letter for delivery, just like the school owls, but Draco was sure _his_ owl would do a better job.

“Mother always insists I have the best of everything,” he boasted proudly, as they walked to the owlery together. “And Morgana is definitely a superior owl. She’s an eagle-owl, which is the largest owl species in the world. She’s very strong, and brings a package of sweets and pastries from home at least once a week. If she can’t deliver your letter, no owl can.”

Harry tied the letter to Morgana’s leg, and she fluttered briefly into the air before landing on a perch next to him.

Harry sighed. “It didn’t work. They must be under wards or a disguising charm of some kind.”

The owl made an odd chuckling hoot, and Draco frowned. “She’s cross with you,” he said.

Morgana fluttered into the air and landed on Harry, and pecked him on the shoulder. She held one leg up in front of his face so the letter hit him on the chin.

“Ow!”

“She thinks the letter is for you,” Draco explained, peeking curiously at it and spotting the vague direction of “Slytherin, England”, though Harry tried to grab it away before he could see. Drat it – Draco had been so polite up until now about not prying into who he was sending a letter to. Morgana hooted happily as Harry took the letter off her.

“Well no wonder she’s having trouble,” Draco huffed. “There is such a thing as being _too_ discreet. You can’t expect to correspond with some random person in Slytherin you have in mind with just a House name and ‘England’. You are probably the closest person there is to matching that direction, being the Heir of the House of Slytherin.”

“But it… oh,” Harry said, cutting off quickly as the realisation dawned on him as to why that direction used to suffice, and didn’t any more.

 _Tom Riddle isn’t the acknowledged Heir any more – I am_ , he thought with amazement. That must be it.

“Would you ah… mind turning your back a moment while I amend my letter?” he asked optimistically.

Draco gave him an odd look, but his words were polite. “Not at all.”

So with Draco facing away, after a moment’s thought about how Quirrell had warned him not to address letters with his ‘real name’ as they’d go astray, Harry magically erased ‘Slytherin’ on the front of the letter and wrote in another name: Tom Marvolo Riddle. This one Morgana accepted more readily, and she flew off into the night with his letter.

“Okay, I’m done,” Harry said, and Draco turned around.

“You know I’m dreadfully curious about that letter, now,” he said conversationally, as they walked down the spiral staircase of the West Tower.

“I’d really rather not talk about it,” Harry replied stiffly.

“I’ll keep it a secret, if you do,” Draco wheedled. “It’s to Millicent, isn’t it? I know you miss her.”

“What?! No!”

“Really? I know you like her. Another Slytherin girl you’re courting, then?”

“I’m not writing to _any_ girl! And Millicent and I are just friends!”

Draco tried to hide a small smile, and Harry realised the problem. “You did it again, you sly snake. I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut when provoked, don’t I?”

“Yes, you really do,” Draco said happily, letting his grin escape at Harry’s grudging admiration of his manipulation of the conversation. “Well, at least I’ve narrowed the field of possible recipients by half.”

“Keep it to yourself, okay?”

“You can trust me, Harry.”

-000-

The next evening in the Chamber of Secrets, Harry sat companionably under Ambrosius’ watchful gaze as he sat sorting through a large bundle of old correspondence. He would’ve thrown it out if he didn’t have expanded trunk space, but since he had the room he’d kept a lot of old letters to help him keep a track of who was courting his favour, and who’d sent nasty letters and he never wanted to accidentally befriend.

“What are you looking for?”

“I’m seeing what names and titles people have put on the envelopes. To see what mail gets through. Here’s a ‘Boy Who Lived’. I had wondered if that would work,” he mused, setting it aside. “Merlin’s beard!”

“What?” said the portrait, looking down at his chin and stroking his long beard. “Is there something in my beard?”

“It’s just an expression,” Harry said embarrassedly.

“We used to swear by various gods,” chuckled Merlin, with a wide grin. “No doubt Jupiter or Taranis would’ve been just as amused to hear people using their names like that to condemn things, if they’d had the chance. In my day we also swore on the river Styx, or your family name. So what interesting letter did you find?”

“People still swear by their family honour these days too, as a formal thing. And I found two letters addressed to ‘The Heir of Slytherin’, both of which I answered with a letter thanking them vaguely for their support, but saying I wasn’t the Heir.”

“Well that wouldn’t have convinced them – quite the opposite in fact.”

Harry sighed, and mumbled, “I didn’t know before that letters would only reach you if you held a recognised title.”

“But that’s how it’s been for millennia! Surely you knew that? What _do_ they teach you children these days?”

Harry responded sulkily, “I guess most people learn these things from their parents. I grew up with Muggles, remember.”

-000-

Near the end of January Professor Lupin visited the Potter Watch meetings as a guest tutor, having been invited to teach some practical spells for self-defence. He taught the juniors how to send up an attraction-getting shower of sparks with their wand, and how to cast the Locking Spell ( _Colloportus_ ) and the counter-charm ( _Alohomora_ ). The middle and senior groups worked on the Stunning Spell ( _Stupefy_ ) and the counter-charm ( _Rennervate_ ). They were more relaxed and fun sessions than the ones Professor Snape had overseen, but Harry wasn’t sure he’d learnt as much that he couldn’t get from a book. Getting in some real practice on the Stunning Spell and its counter-charm _was_ really great, though. And Hermione was particularly excited that she’d get to learn the same spells the senior group would also be working on.

Harry was in a distracted mood for almost a fortnight, and buried his worries in doing extra study in Ancient Runes, and digging through the very few books the library afforded on Norse mythology (and a few lent by Professor Babbling), once he discovered that Baldur was a Norse god.

He discovered that Baldur (or Baldr) was the son of Odin and Frigg, the god so beautiful and good that light shone from his pale skin. As his title was “Shining One” or “The Shining Day”, he was associated with the rune Sowilō, rune of the sun and its shining rays. In the myths Baldur’s mother was terrified by prophetic dreams of her son’s death that they both shared, and extracted a promise from every living thing and every object in every realm not to harm her son. With one exception – mistletoe refused to give that promise, and so Loki crafted a spear from it to give to the blind god Höðr, who wanted to join in the game of throwing weapons at Baldur so everyone could delight in his invincibility as attacks just bounced off him. (It seemed an odd kind of game to Harry, but then, it was just a story.) And thus it was that Höðr slew his brother Baldur with the mistletoe spear, all unknowing of what he did.

Then there was a long bit at the end of the myth about Höðr dying, and people trying to get Baldur back from the dead, and a giantess (possibly Loki in disguise) who refused to weep for him, and so the chance was lost and he was stuck in the afterlife. Harry didn’t see how that part could be as relevant, as his best guess was that maybe his mother liked the bit about making her child immune to all kinds of attacks. He wondered for a moment if maybe mistletoe would hurt him more than most things, before remembering that he’d had plenty of small injuries in his life, both magical and mundane. Whatever his mother had done had almost certainly been all used up protecting him from the Killing Curse. Unless maybe he was _still_ immune to the Killing Curse – but there was obviously no safe way to test that.

It was the day before Imbolc when Harry finally got another letter from Quirrell. Or to be more accurate, and to use his preferred Name of Power – a letter from Lord Voldemort.


	21. Letters Fix Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry reads his letter from Lord Voldemort and sends his reply. Harry celebrates Imbolc very nicely and properly, but continues to be a bit clueless when it comes to the finer details of Valentine’s Day.

**_February 1994_ **

The outside of the envelope had a warning written on it, underneath his name. “ _Do not open unless you are alone. You will only get one chance for answers, ever. Do not spurn this unique opportunity.”_

Harry worried about even touching it when he realised who it must be from, realising in a panic that he hadn’t thought through what to do if he actually got a response, but the owl had dropped it in his hands and flown off out the dorm window into the darkening sky before he’d realised who it was from. He decided that if nothing had happened just from touching it, and it had made it through his owl ward in the first place, that it was _probably_ safe to read it. He made very sure he was alone, hiding on his bed with the curtains drawn, without even Storm permitted to peek at the letter. He grumbled at being put back in the tank he was rapidly outgrowing, but was mollified by Harry’s promise that he’d read him any good bits later.

_Dear Boy Who Lived,_

_Firstly and most urgently, I urge you not read this letter out aloud, nor to attempt to copy it, or it will be instantly destroyed._

_So, on to business. You are a bright boy, aren’t you? I commend you on your discernment at uncovering my true identity at last. Never fear, I mean you no harm. I imagine you scoff at that thought, and little wonder. We have not always been friends, have we? Let me address your concerns, albeit out of order._

It was true. Quirrell was Lord Voldemort. Harry’s head reeled.

_Let us address firstly our recent interactions at Hogwarts. It is true that I was the culprit responsible for the jinx on your broom in first year._

It really _was_ him! Why would he admit it?

_But it was not an attempt to kill you. Had I wished to do so I am sure that you, being an intelligent lad, can think of several scenarios where I could have done so with more ease, and less chance of being interrupted. I knew that should you be thrown from your broom, especially after a period of it obviously malfunctioning, that several teachers stood ready to slow or cushion your fall._

He was making a good point. Harry didn’t _want_ him to make good points. He wanted him to rant, so he could hate him. He was a murderer!

_There is an Ancient tradition, Harry, one scorned by many in this soft age, to test a child’s magic. The child is thrown from a height to trigger the awakening of their magic in the face of peril. Of course, responsible parents stood ready to catch the child should the child be sadly deficient, without magic coursing through their blood ready to save them. It used to be many a young witch or wizard’s first experience of Apparition, and for rare few, Flight._

Like what happened to Neville, maybe. Except it hadn’t sounded like anyone was ready to catch him, since he had _actually hit the ground_. Harry remembered what Neville had told him about it – some Squibs used to die in such tests, and those who didn’t often became “changelings” – dumped with a normal family like unwanted rubbish while a Muggle-born child was stolen in exchange.

_I wanted to see what powers you hid. What might be awakened and blossom in the face of what must surely be perceived by you, in your inexperience with Quidditch safety measures, to be a life-threatening situation. I am confident you are astute enough to discern my curiosity as to why._

Yes, he always _had_ been curious about how Harry had survived the Killing Curse. The curse _he_ had cast! Harry wanted to pace. He wanted to… smash something. Or scream… yell at the sky. But if it walked away from this letter, he had a feeling it might burn to ashes. If he only got one chance for answers, he didn’t want to miss it. And so Harry did what he almost always did, what he’d learnt at Privet Drive. He squashed his anger down and pretended everything was fine.

_And so we turn, regrettably, to the subject of the war. It is a sad truth that in war, innocents die. On both sides. I had followers who lost children too. Parents. Friends._

_Maybe_ , thought Harry. _But I know I was specially targeted. My memories tell me so._

_I regret the deaths of your family, and the attempt on your life._

Harry found suddenly he was crying. He didn’t really know why, and wiped the tears away roughly.

_I made several unwise decisions under the influence of many continuous months of casting control-focused and Dark battle spells. While they have no impact when cast occasionally, to regularly cast many emotion-based spells has an emotional impact on you in keeping with their nature. Too many Cheering Charms brings out one’s jovial nature, for instance._

_Being immersed in casting spells such as the Imperius on an almost daily basis, I wished to control. Too used to casting the Killing Curse, I wished to harm and kill._ _I am calmer now and able to reflect on my actions more intelligently, outside the pressures of continual spellcasting required of a lengthy rebellion. I do want you to know that even in the depths of my growing madness I still offered to spare your parents’ lives, even despite their repeated defiance and spurning of my offers to join me. The lives of all wizards and witches are precious to me, and death was meted out always as a last resort, if one I resorted to more and more often as the rebellion dragged on, and I saw more of my followers fall to death, or be thrown in Azkaban for a sentence of lifelong torture._

_There are two sides to every tale, Harry. And the winners write the history books. We fought for a better world. For the safety of our people, and a better life for other magical races who live in squalor and oppression. For the freedom to practice our religion and worship magic without shame or fear._

Harry tried to think about what he was saying objectively. It was hard. He’d tried to kill him. Thanks to the Boggart, he knew the sound of his mother’s dying screams. But then again… thanks to the Boggart, he also knew that Qui… Lord Voldemort had offered to let her go. He’d only wanted to kill Harry. Why?

_As to your difficult question as to what harm a baby could do… there was a prophecy about my defeat. I heard it before you were even born. Yet I didn’t act until you were over a year old, when I was both sure you were the one it referred to, and the madness of wishing to control every aspect of the war swelled beyond my control. I do not believe that prophecy is relevant any longer. Firstly because I am more in control of myself, and secondly because I believe that it is clear you fulfilled it when you were a baby._

_I am very sorry, Harry. I regret my attack on you, and I regret the loss of your parents. I regard you as a remarkable young man – intelligent, powerful, and with the potential to do great things for our world. I hope that you find it within yourself to forgive me, and that we can continue to correspond as friends, or at the very least, move forward as neutral acquaintances. For I have no desire to be your enemy._

_Should you wish to reopen a cordial correspondence, kindly address your letters to “Slytherin” or “Lord Voldemort” in the future. Discretion of course shall be critical should you choose the latter form of address._

_With sincere wishes for your future health and happiness,_

_Lord Voldemort_

The letter crumbled to ashes in his hands as he read the last word. Harry’s mind was in a loop. _He signed it. Lord Voldemort sent his ‘sincere wishes for my health and happiness’_ , he thought over and over. It was true. His gamble had paid off, and now he knew the truth for sure. Quirrell had either been possessed, or impersonated by the Dark Lord, all along. _Lord Voldemort_ wanted to be friends with him. His parents’ killer. The man who’d told him he was bright, and worthwhile, and a great wizard, and that being able to speak with snakes was nothing to be ashamed of. Which made more sense when you remembered that _Lord Voldemort_ was a Parselmouth too. This was the man who’d encouraged and supported him through his fight with Ron and listened to his complaints patiently, who explained spell theory to him, and who despite desperately wanting the Philosopher’s Stone had talked and bargained with him in the hidden chamber instead of just attacking or killing him and running off with the Stone unopposed. Harry felt very confused about it all.

Harry wrote out what he could remember of the letter he’d just read before he forgot it, and then went through all Qui- Voldemort’s old letters over and over.

Things leapt out at him that he’d never paid attention to before. Like a line about his mother referring to her “ _sad and unnecessary doom”._ So it wasn’t the first time he’d expressed regret for killing Harry’s parents, though he’d missed it before. Then there was his interest in hearing that Snape still followed the Old Ways, and that he’d thought he’d stopped that with the end of the war – it seemed that Voldemort too subscribed to the notion that Snape had been a spy who’d turned on him. His love of snakes, dislike of Dumbledore, disdain for Muggles, and his interest in discussing political theory – all those things took on extra weight now.

Harry tossed and turned all night, and went to classes in the morning with dark shadows under his eyes, but was still unsure of what to think despite his constant pondering. He hated Lord Voldemort, his parents’ murderer. But… he liked Quirrell, his friend who believed in him. He couldn’t reconcile the two in his mind.

-000-

Harry spilled a ladleful of potion on the floor in Potions class the next afternoon.

“Five points from Gryffindor, Potter! What were you thinking?!” hissed Professor Snape angrily, as his wand swished through the air to wordlessly banish the bubbling ooze before it damaged the floor.

“Nothing you need to know about,” muttered Harry sulkily, meeting Snape’s gaze with wide eyes. “At least it’s not a detention.”

“Do you _want_ a detention scrubbing cauldrons with me on Saturday? Because that could be arranged if you wish to maintain your current attitude,” Snape said with soft threat in his voice.

Harry shrugged, and continued his staring contest with Snape, trying to widen his eyes meaningfully. “No sir, I guess not. You know, it _was_ just an accident,” he grumped. “I’m just a bit tired.”

 _Yes, I want a detention, yes, I want a detention_ , he thought determinedly. _Detention please._

Professor Snape startled with a tiny motion of his head that Harry wouldn’t have noticed except that he’d been watching closely for a reaction, and blinked. “Detention. Nine in the morning on Saturday. Don’t be late, Potter.”

 _Thank you, sir_. “Sorry, sir,” he said with a loud sigh. “I’ll be there.”

“Too bad, Harry,” whispered Neville comfortingly. “You’ll miss the Quidditch match. Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw.”

“Is it? Oh well.” He had forgotten about it, and was a little disappointed he would miss it, but not _that_ much. “I can’t believe Dementor attacks haven’t put people off the whole idea.”

Neville shrugged. “People love Quidditch.”

“Just keep your wand handy.”

“I will,” Neville said firmly. “Everyone from Potter Watch will. Just in case.”

-000-

Harry tried to stay busy. He wanted to be too busy to think. It wasn’t a great start to Imbolc. He even brought some books to the Gryffindor table at lunch time so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Not that it was a great strategy, with Hermione sitting next to him.

“What are you reading that has you so engrossed, Harry?” Hemione asked curiously, as Harry carefully flipped through the pages of a book at the dining table with his left hand, just using a fork to eat his dinner with the other hand.

“It’s a book on Norse legends that Professor Babbling lent me from her own personal collection. Did you know that when the Aesir wanted to punish Loki, they turned his son Váli into a wolf, who then killed his brother Narfi? And then they used Narfi’s entrails to bind Loki, and the bonds were turned to iron? Do you think that’s alluding to the wizarding antipathy to iron, or is it just because iron was one of the strongest metals around in ancient times?”

“You’re reading that for fun?” asked Neville, pushing his half-finished plate of food away, appetite lost.

“It’s better than the story about the horse. Trust me, you don’t want to know. Do you think Asgard’s a real place? Or are they more like old stories of Scandinavian wizards? Well, Loki’s obviously a wizard. It’s hard to tell about most of the rest of them.”

“Old exaggerated stories with very little basis in fact,” insisted Hermione. “They’re just myths.”

“Probably based quite a lot on real history, I’d say,” countered Neville.

They got into an argument about the wizarding world’s tendency to cling to outdated myths and superstitions, before Hermione digressed into complaining about how Professor Trelawney had foreseen horrible omens of doom for Ron _again._

Neville said hesitantly, “I think sometimes predictions can come true. My Gran _did_ catch a cold after all, just like Trelawney foresaw.”

Hermione scoffed at that conclusion. “But statistical chance and multiple interpretations mean that her prediction doesn’t really count as significant. Hinting at ill health is a safe bet, given how often people get sick or injured.”

“But she is a Seer,” Neville insisted. “Look at how many things she’s gotten right!”

Harry left them to their moderately good-natured argument and returned to his book. Trying to puzzle out Baldur’s history and what his own mother might have had in mind with her ritual was better than thinking about Quirrell. Lord Voldemort. He still got the name wrong, and had to remind himself – he’d never truly met the real Quirrell at all.

-000-

Deprived of celebrating Imbolc on the last day of January by scheduling issues since a lot of year groups were staying indoors for fear of Dementors or discovery, the third years were assigned the first of February instead. It still counted, as according to the old reckoning of days, you started counting a day from sunset to sunset.

After classes ended on that Tuesday Harry, Neville, and Eloise Midgen strolled casually to the club room, theoretically there to help celebrate Crabbe’s birthday. His birthday was actually the following day, but it was close enough, and the Gobstones Club had the room booked for the afternoon of second of February. While using his birthday as an excuse for a gathering would of necessity involve some birthday celebration of some kind, their actual goal was to quietly have an indoors celebration of Imbolc. Harry had foregone his usual demanding schedule of using the Time-Turner all afternoon and evening, taking a day off to keep things simple.

Cover stories had been carefully and covertly arranged – those who plausibly knew Crabbe were there for his birthday. Those who didn’t were there for a Ravenclaw-led study group at a table tucked away in the corner. It was a good precaution, as early in the afternoon Professor McGonagall peeked in briefly to check on what was going on. Pansy had clearly worked out some kind of early warning system, as a short little first year boy scurried in to whisper to her and then left again, mere moments before the Professor arrived.

So when Professor McGonagall entered and looked around suspiciously, she saw Crabbe ripping the paper off presents with a crowd of friends around him. Meanwhile students in a group in the corner were ignoring the lot of them to work on the most recent Charms homework together, and bickering about whether Cheering Charms actually induced real happiness or not and what the long-term effects of casting lots of them might be. She swept out again without a word, and after the door closed behind her more than one student sighed with relief.

As Crabbe finished unwrapping his last few presents Draco and Pansy swept into position to set up a temporary altar on a table, and took turns lecturing about the correct way to set one up for your home, and ways to conceal it from casual observation. Harry’s friendship with them didn’t stop Pansy from telling him off when he started taking notes.

“You are not allowed write this down, Harry,” she rebuked. “It’s word of mouth only. The senior druids taught us, and we teach those of you who didn’t have the opportunity to learn from… anyone at home. Just pay attention and try to memorise things as best you can.”

He nodded and erased his notes magically before putting his parchment away. “Sorry.” He appreciated her trying to dodge around saying, “Your parents are dead and you live with Muggles, so pay attention because this is all you get.” He sighed unhappily as he realised that his best tutors in the Old Ways apart from her were the man who’d killed his parents, and a mosaic portrait of someone who’d died many centuries ago. Still, he was a very _famous_ portrait. And _he_ rarely fussed about Harry writing things down.

This year’s celebration was heavy on theory. They talked briefly about the wheel of the year, and the important influence of the sun, moon, and stars on a wizard or witch’s magic. But mostly they talked about water – the life blood of the earth.

“There’s power in water that you collect from rainwater, springs, and wells – Muggle water might look clear, but is tainted by chemicals and iron, and thus is not safe to drink. Exposure to the Muggle world is in fact a slow-acting poison, that is reducing wizards’ lifespans, along with losing purity of blood through inappropriate intermarriage of course,” stated Draco, as if these were self-evident facts.

Harry raised his hand.

“Yes?”

“Has anyone carried out any longitudinal studies on the trend in decreasing lifespans, examining correlations and possible causative factors?”

Draco blinked. “I… regret to say I do not comprehend your meaning.”

Harry rephrased his question in simpler terms with less scientific lingo, “What I mean is - who says that’s true? Is there any proof of those claims?”

“It’s what I have learned from my father, and I believe he may have researched the matter in more detail.”

Harry nodded. He’d ask him sometime, then. Draco was just repeating what he’d heard.

Pansy took over next. “The Water-Making Spell, _Aguamenti_ , is useful to learn once you’re older. It produces a magically created jet of pure and potable water that is highly suitable for ritual offerings, cleansing rituals, and so on. It is most advantageous if you might be stranded in a Muggle area or a desert. You can find it in the _Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six_.”

They concluded the more formal section of the afternoon with a blind taste test of various types of water in different coloured clay cups, being invited to judge which felt most refreshing or energizing. Harry knew something of the kind was coming, as Pansy had asked him to supply a jug of rainwater made by one of Storm’s conjured clouds. They had a little chat about it after everyone had tried the water with thoughtful looks, swishing it around in their mouths like they were trying to judge the bouquet of a fine wine. Most people pronounced the purple and the green cups’ water the best.

 _“Purple was mine_ ,” Storm hissed proudly from his spot draped across Harry’s shoulders, after Harry told him in quiet sibilant hisses which one was the favourite of the majority.

“ _Conjured water was a close sssecond after your rain water – almost a tie, and well water came third. Rainwater and river water were about tied, and no-one really liked the Muggle bottled ssspring water. They didn’t have tap water to try – they sssaid it would be injuriouss to our health. I never noticed it being a problem. Mind you, I never thought it was especially delectable either.”_

Millicent continued her successful wooing of his pet’s affections by offering him a little live fish in a bowl of water to eat. “Sacrificial offerings to magical creatures associated with water are very appropriate for Imbolc,” she explained, with a smug look at Daphne who looked grumpy like she wished she’d thought of that too.

“It’s extremely kind of you,” said Harry, touched.

After a brief hissed discussion with his very pleased and well-fed pet, he offered a translation for Millicent. “He’d like you to know that you’re his favourite human after me, and that he will share his prey with you if you’re hungry - he promises if he catches something that’s too big for him to eat, like a duck, you can have it.”

“Tell him he’s a beautiful sweetheart,” she cooed happily, and he translated that obediently. Girls.

“ _Tell her she may hold me,_ ” said Storm magnanimously. He had learnt to suffer being patted quite happily ever since Harry had explained it was a way for humans to show admiration, but still didn’t usually like being held by anyone other than Harry.

At first she had a touch of nervousness that was quickly soothed by Harry’s whispered promise that not only would Storm not bite, he was more likely to hit people with lightning if they threatened her. But after that reassurance Millicent delighted in her brief moments of attention from Harry (as they usually didn’t even get to talk to each other these days except in these secluded group settings, thanks to her father’s dictums), and the joy of parading around with a live rainbow snake draped around her neck and being admired by her peers.

While she was entertained with Storm, Harry had a quiet chat with Morag MacDougal from Ravenclaw.

“I looked into Lovegood’s situation for you like you asked, Potter,” she reported. “I couldn’t determine if there’s a Nargle problem or not – most people think they’re extinct if they’ve even heard of them, and they were apparently always good at hiding, being such terrible thieves. But in any case, there’s definitely a bullying problem – mostly girls in her year, but a few in older years too.”

“Any particular reason they’re picking on her?”

MacDougal shrugged. “Pick one. She’s a very weird girl, by all accounts. She believes in creatures that don’t exist now, or never did. She sleepwalks. She believes everything her father writes in _The Quibbler_ , even the joke stuff. For instance, she thinks Sirius Black is actually living quietly in disguise as the singer Stubby Boardman. Oh, and she wanders off in the middle of a conversation with you if she gets bored or distracted. That alone has offended a lot of people.”

Harry sighed. “Suggestions? To help her?”

“I don’t know. It’s probably not going to totally stop everything, but I’ve warned a couple of the most obvious culprits that if they don’t tone it down and return her belongings I’ll report them to Flitwick. If you can make it obvious that she’s a client under your protection, it’d help a lot with some of the more traditional witches.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “Here you go,” he said, digging in his satchel and handing over a book to her. “My copy of _Modern Magical World History_ for you to borrow for a fortnight, as agreed, along with my sincere thanks for your assistance.”

“Thanks, Potter. I’ll look after it.”

They wrapped up the evening with some snacks, notably a platter of crackers with sheep’s milk cheese – a traditional food for Imbolc, due to its association with lambing season. For Crabbe’s birthday there was a selection of jam tarts, and a honey cake covered in candles. Crabbe blew all the candles out with one giant puff of breath, and stood stock still afterwards with his eyes closed, concentrating hard on his wish. Then when he opened his eyes everyone clapped and cheered for him. He looked really pleased by all the attention.

“I don’t think I’ll come again, Harry,” Neville whispered apologetically over cake. “It’s a bit too much for my nerves – the chance of being caught. And I don’t believe I’m terribly partial to the philosophy of the Old Ways.”

“They do get a bit blood purist snobby sometimes,” Harry said regretfully. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s more than that, but it certainly doesn’t help. You’re not upset, I hope?” he said nervously.

“No, of course not! You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. We’re still friends, right?” he said, with a little uncertainty of his own.

They both apologised to each other, and reassured each other there were no hurt feelings, until they both felt secure again in their friendship.

-000-

While most of the school was out watching Quidditch, Harry scrubbed cauldrons down in the Potions classroom, under Professor Snape’s watchful and curious eye.

“So what did you wish to discuss with me, Potter? Or should I say… Antares Black?”

“Heard about that, did you?” Harry said with a grin.

“Eventually. I hear most things, sooner or later. Twenty points from Gryffindor for a tasteless choice of name.”

Harry shrugged and grimaced. “I know, sorry sir. But it’s my paternal grandmother’s family, and I guess I must look like someone a couple of generations back because Professor Binns almost always calls me Black. They can’t all be bad – one got to be Headmaster here.”

“Ah, Phineas Nigellus Black. He was in Slytherin, you know. Rather unpopular during his tenure due to a spate of disputes with the Ministry that turned nasty for all concerned. But you didn’t goad me into giving you a detention to ask questions about the Black family.”

“No sir. I… wanted to ask you about my mother. Professor Lupin has shared some stories about my father – Neville came along too – but he couldn’t say much about mum.”

Harry drank in every word as his usually taciturn Professor obligingly settled down to tell him about first meeting his mother as a young girl, as she floated off a swing to land unharmed, and learnt from him that she was a witch. How they remained friends through most of Hogwarts, and worked together in Potions under Professor Slughorn, and were invited into his “Slug Club” of promising or well-connected students. How she loved Potions, Charms, and Ancient Runes, and enjoyed learning about some of the Old wizarding traditions and beliefs from Snape. He loved the tale about her being a prefect and comforting homesick first years the best, where she stayed up half the night to chat to one child and sing lullabies, and went bleary-eyed and yawning to classes the next day.

“I heard that they – my parents – didn’t get on well until seventh year. Can you tell me something about why they didn’t like each other before then?”

Snape steepled his fingers and looked thoughtfully at Harry. “I could give you an example. But you may take it amiss as a slur on your father.”

“Would it be the truth? Or would you exaggerate?”

“The former. Though I must admit to a certain bias in favour of taking your mother’s side in the altercation – I was her friend, but never his.”

“Then I can take it. Tell me.”

And so Professor Snape, with an odd slight smile, told Harry of how he and Lily had stumbled across Potter and Black bullying a young Slytherin wizard in the halls, and laughing about it.

“Bertram had apparently ‘looked at them funny’ and muttered something under his breath while passing in the halls, so they’d taken it upon themselves to insult and berate him. When poor little Bertram Aubrey swore at them and went to walk off, they cast a tripping jinx at him and laughed at him smacking his face on the stone floor so his nose bled. And that is when Lily and I showed up.”

“Did you help?”

“Lily told them off, and I undid the jinx on Bertram, though he didn’t thank me for it. Meanwhile, your father tried to explain to Lily how the boy had started it. Black, meanwhile, snickered that arrogant little sod had it coming, and the boy had a big head which needed deflating. When I glanced at Bertram as he went to scurry away, I saw that his head was literally swelling up. It grew to twice normal size due to an illegal hex. One of them must have cast it. I’m not sure which – but they both laughed about it.”

“That’s awful!” Harry said, very upset. “Was he alright?”

“He needed two weeks in the Hospital Wing, dosed up with potions while they hoped that his brain would recover without lasting injury. It did, in time, though he perhaps seemed more forgetful than he used to be, and suffered occasional dizzy spells. The _Engorgio Skullus_ hex is illegal for a reason. Your father and his crony just thought it was a hilarious prank. They got only two sessions of detention with Filch.”

“My father was a bully,” Harry said sadly. “A Quidditch-cheating, student-hexing bully.”

Snape was silent.

“Was he a drunkard, too?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Aunt Petunia always said he was. And an unemployed layabout.”

Snape grudgingly said, “He drank in the last year or two of school, but no more than many students, and less than some. I did not like the man, but I wouldn’t call him a drunkard. He didn’t work, unless you count fighting in the war, but he had money. He had no need to struggle to earn his crust like some of us.”

“Do you know why mum changed her mind about him and starting dating him later on?”

“I don’t care to discuss the matter.”

“I just want to know-”

“-I understand that you are curious. _But I do not care to discuss the matter,_ ” Snape repeated, in a deep voice that warned Harry there would be consequences if he pressed the issue.

“…Okay. Um. Is there anything _nice_ you can tell me about my father?” Harry asked plaintively. “Uh, did he really save your life from an attacking werewolf?”

“Who told you that?” Snape said, looking very startled.

“The Headmaster told me, a couple of years ago. Is it true?”

Snape scowled. “ _I cannot speak of it_ ,” he said meaningfully.

“Because… no. Seriously? Another Unbreakable Vow?” guessed Harry.

He nodded curtly.

“But why,” mused Harry. “Can you hint about it without endangering yourself?”

“Let’s change the subject,” Snape said smoothly. “What grade are you planning on working for in _Defence Against the Dark Arts_ , this year? I enjoyed the subject greatly when I was a student here, during your father’s time here _with all his friends_.”

Harry got the hint immediately, and gasped. “Professor Lupin was the one who attacked you!? That’s horrible! And Dumbledore covered it up by making you vow to say nothing?”

Snape smiled, but said and did nothing else.

“My dad saved you from him, though,” Harry sighed. “That’s something, I suppose. I’m guessing from how you’re still angry at him that he maybe didn’t do it in the nicest way, or was mixed up in the attack in the first place.

“How can you work with him, sir? Professor Lupin?”

Snape sighed. “Staff hiring decisions are, regrettably, outside of my hands. And I must confess I derive a certain modicum of comfort from the knowledge that no-one has lasted in that position for more than a year. In the meantime, our relations are distant but superficially cordial, and I enjoy brewing a particular potion once a month.”

Harry thought for a moment. “The Wolfsbane Potion?”

Professor Snape smiled again at him, and Harry grinned a small proud smile in return. He was a good guesser.

“Thank you, sir,” he said gratefully. “Thank you for keeping us all safe while he’s here.”

His professor looked momentarily choked up with emotion, and briefly lost for words. “You are nothing like your father,” he said eventually. “But your mother would be _so proud_ of you.”

Harry smiled, and drew in a long, slow shuddering breath as he tried not to cry. “I… that’s nice. I hope she would be.”

“She would.” Harry rubbed his eyes dry while his professor politely pretended not to notice his escaping tears.

“I don’t suppose there’s _anything_ good you can say about my dad?”

Snape looked very conflicted, but eventually dredged up something positive to say. “He was very skilled in Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Charms, and a good Quidditch player – a Chaser. He fought bravely in the war in defence of others, and never resorted to using the Unforgivable Curses, no matter the provocation. He usually followed Dumbledore’s example and preferred not to kill his enemies, even though his allies such as Black could be quite ruthless and creative with their spells. And I believe of course that he died to protect your mother, and you. That on its own is very worthy of respect. You can be very proud of him for that, if nothing else.”

That was nice to hear – he felt a lot better to hear his father fought honourably, and showed mercy when he could. Though it seemed Crabbe’s brother wasn’t so lucky – maybe that had been what changed his dad’s mind about killing in battle?

Snape’s comments about his dad were a good lead in for something he’d been wanting to casually raise in conversation when a suitable opportunity arose to make it seem natural.

“Yeah, he did die to protect us,” he said, taking comfort from the thought that he’d once been that loved. “He died downstairs fighting Voldemort and holding him off while my mum ran upstairs to the nursery with me.”

Snape blinked, then said, “You read that in a book, I suppose.”

“Yes… no. I mean I read it, but I also remember it. I’ve been working with a Boggart in Potter Watch with the senior group, and for a while it turned into a Dementor. It let me relive my worst memories – I got to see my parents’ final moments.”

Snape spun around to face away from Harry for a moment, before turning back with a calm composed face.

“I wish I could do that,” Harry said admiringly. “It’s hard to look that calm when you’re upset.”

“Practice, and Occlumency,” his professor said smoothly. “Though usually it’s harder to catch me off guard. You surprised me.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“I dread the question, but yes.”

“It’s not about you.”

“That is a comfort. Go on.”

Harry took a deep breath. “One of the last things that happens is the Dark Lord offering to spare my mum. He tells her to stand aside, calls her a silly girl. At first he just wanted to kill me, and she seemed to know it. Do you know why he would have done that? Focus on killing a baby instead of a witch who fought him?”

He wanted independent confirmation of what the Dark Lord had told him, and thought an ex-Death Eater was probably his best chance. He’d already tried asking Professor McGonagall, albeit with a more simple question about why the man had tried to kill a harmless baby, and she’d just told him You-Know-Who was “mad” and “evil”, and not to think about it anymore. Snape hadn’t told him a lot the last time they’d talked about it because of how his Vow tripped him up, but he thought it was worth trying again with a more roundabout question.

Snape looked as still as a statue, completely motionless. Harry glanced at his chest to make sure he was still actually breathing – it was very subtle but he was.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly.

“About what? The memory? Yes. I saw it three times. I wrote it down.”

“May I see it?”

Harry hesitated, and avoided eye contact in case Professor Snape tried to cheat and peek at his memories. He’d written it up in his very private red journal in invisible ink, along with a lot of information about the Founders, and King Arthur, and snippets of information about the Old Ways that Merlin had taught him. “…No. It’s in my diary. And it’s private.”

“I would greatly appreciate a copy of the transcript. It’s important to me. I would count it as a repayment of the favour you owe me for lecturing at your club.”

“…I suppose. If you answer my question.”

“What question?” asked Snape distractedly, like his mind was elsewhere.

“About why the Dark Lord would offer to spare my mother, but try to kill me. As much as you can say, around the edges of your Vow.”

Snape winced briefly before his face returned to passivity. “You don’t know what you’re asking. The answer to that question is probably the most deeply personal and traumatic memory of my life. Don’t ask me that.”

Harry wondered what Snape’s role in the business had been. Had he recruited Black? Helped lead Voldemort to his parents’ house? “Don’t I deserve to know?”

“Get out.”

“What?”

“I can’t… I cannot answer you. Please. Just leave. Before I take a thousand points off Gryffindor.” He pointed at the door.

Harry stared at him. The man’s rigid control seemed close to cracking. Perhaps it was the Unbreakable Vow that his teacher was under, something to do with why the Dark Lord had tried to kill Harry – maybe a prophecy like he’d claimed in his letter. Maybe that was why – the Vow was tripping him up and he didn’t want to risk death by talking any more. Of course, there could be _another_ reason – his lost friendship with his deceased mother seemed a likely cause of upset too.

“Tell me one thing, if you can. Whatever it is you did that led to their deaths – because I think there must be something – are you sorry for it?”

“Yes,” Snape hissed unhappily through clenched teeth. “I would willingly die if I could undo it – if it would bring her back.”

Harry stared at him, the anguish on Snape’s face warring with the overlaid façade of blank calmness, and silently left the room. He felt a bit like crying again too. After he’d closed the door behind him the lock clicked shut without any action on his part. He pressed his ear against the door, and could faintly hear the sounds of choked sobs coming from inside. It made him feel very guilty for raising the topic of his mother’s death in the first place.

That hadn’t gone well for either of them. And all he’d really learnt in confirmation about what Quirrell had told him was something he’d written about in a letter long ago – that Snape was indeed heavily burdened by guilt about his mother’s death.

-000-

When talking to Snape didn’t pan out as informatively as he’d hoped, Harry tried fishing for confirmatory information about why the Dark Lord had targeted him from Lucius Malfoy. Unfortunately, Lucius was obviously too wary to write anything useful in his response, merely making polite vague apologies about having been under the Imperius Curse and not informed about You-Know-Who’s motivations, and referring him to some useless but popular books that Harry had already consulted.

He handed a bit of parchment with his mother’s final words and argument with the Dark Lord to Snape (but nothing from earlier about the runes or the cut on his forehead), hidden inside a homework scroll, but he didn’t say anything in reply about it to Harry directly. He did write a note on his returned homework, however, with a notably odd choice of punctuation for the first unusually short sentence.

“ _Thank you. For a very informative essay, with excellent information about the effects of using too much Puffskein fur in this solution when brewing in a pewter or copper cauldron. Outstanding_.”

Harry stewed for weeks over what response to send to Riddle’s letter, if any. He asked Neville what he would do if he ever faced his parents’ torturers – Neville said he’d fight them, even if he’d no doubt lose. Harry guessed that’s why Neville was a Gryffindor. He didn’t feel brave about starting up a new war with Lord Voldemort. Eventually after many false starts he decided to make his reply brief.

“ _Lord Voldemort,_

_I appreciate you responding to my letter. But I cannot forgive you for killing my parents or trying to kill me. I would prefer you not try to kill or attack me in the future, and I will extend the same courtesy of neutrality to you._

_Do not write to me again._

_The Last Potter_ ”

He didn’t leave it at that, though. He might have some lingering fondness for the man, weird though it felt now. But it wasn’t going to stop him trying to bring him to justice.

He thought about talking to Dumbledore, but really, this wasn’t a matter for a school Headmaster to deal with, no matter how famous he was in the wizarding world. If fame was all that mattered, Lockhart would be ruling the country!

Harry held a brief and secretive consultation with Hermione and Neville about the matter. He didn’t explain why, still being very shy and ashamed at being taken in for so long, but he talked to them about his suspicions that Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort – Tom Marvolo Riddle - just like Lockhart had been. They didn’t really understand his reasoning, since he was of course leaving out several key bits of evidence (though Neville knew a little more, like about the possessed diary being hidden rather than destroyed). But they supported him in his planned course of action – he was going to go straight to the top, and was planning to write to the Minister for Magic. He would know what to do! Aurors would be straight on it, no doubt, and his parents would be avenged. He decided when the Aurors showed up at Hogwarts to question him he would come clean about the diary to someone who seemed trustworthy, so they could deal with it discreetly and properly. He might be better at casting the Patronus Charm, but not enough to want to try and sneak past a whole swarm of Dementors, not to mention any other perils the Forbidden Forest held. Best on the whole to leave it to the professionals, he’d decided, especially given he still wasn’t game to try casting Fiendfyre.

-000-

The Hogsmeade weekend just before Valentine’s Day was a bit of a non-event for Harry. He wouldn’t have even noticed it was on a special day except that a few people had asked him if he was taking anyone. They seemed pretty uniformly disappointed to hear that he was spending it with Professor McGonagall, being guarded from Sirius Black in an escorted outing around the Hogsmeade shops. He appreciated their sympathy. Harry mourned his lost opportunity to sneak away to Grantown-on-Spey, but understood the necessity of a guard, even though he didn’t like it. He spotted a couple of senior Potter Watch members discreetly trailing after them too, though noted that Percy and his girlfriend were absent from the cluster of watchers.

He hoped his other friends were having more fun than he was. While he moped around buying a few things he tried to make the best of things by seizing the opportunity to ask his professor some questions he had about Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration and how it related to the classical four elements. He’d learn something useful, _and_ hopefully she’d realise he was actually quite good at Transfiguration – he was aiming to go up to an Exceeds Expectations grade this year after all.

They ran across Professor Snape a couple of times while touring the village, which seemed to surprise Professor McGonagall. But his brief explanation of how he needed to stock up on Potions ingredients and some other necessities seemed to satisfy her curiosity, especially when they ran into him later in _Dogweed and Deathcap_ , which was a combination apothecary and plant shop. (Harry had a few ingredients he’d wanted to grab from there too, not that he was doing as much private brewing these days as he’d used to.)

One thing Harry made sure to pick up at _Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop_ were a small handful of glittery cards saying “You’re a great friend!” and “We’ll owl-ways be friends!” for all his female friends for Valentine’s Day on Monday. He hadn’t forgotten how some of them had gotten huffy last year that he hadn’t gotten them anything when they’d sent _him_ cards (even though it wasn’t a _real_ holiday), and wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

He sent them with a couple of school owls on Monday amidst a crowd of other boys in the Owlery on similar missions, and hoped Hermione, Pansy, Millicent, Daphne, and Tracey would like them… and not mind that some of them had identical cards. At least the writing inside was different. He also sent one to Lovegood, with a carefully phrased message inside saying that if she ever had any problems with her studies or anything else she was welcome to turn to him, as a friend, for help and assistance. (He checked the wording with Pansy, and she gave it her seal of approval.) And another went out to little Flavia Derrick, since Storm insisted she not be forgotten. He refused to send Millicent a live duck, however, no matter how much his snake argued it would make a great gift she would be sure to appreciate. A little more arguing also ruled out stunned and dead ducks, a sparrow (easier to swallow whole), a roast chicken, and live fish. Eventually Storm went into a sulk and successfully insisted Harry write an explanatory note on her card from him about Harry’s refusal to get a tasty gift for her.

Hermione, who sat next to him and Neville every morning for breakfast, was the first to thank him, and they had a nice chat together about how his owl ward worked, and that he wouldn’t be getting any mail of his own until after sunset.

“It makes things easier at home,” he explained, before frowning as he distractedly worried about whether he’d even _have_ a home with the Dursleys come summer break. “I hope I don’t get too many cards this year. At least I don’t need to panic about my mail until sunset.”

“Good luck Harry,” muttered Neville, who shared a look with Harry that said he remembered Harry’s terror at getting an unwanted proposal of possible future engagement last year. Harry _still_ didn’t want to look Farley in the eye in the senior Potter Watch group. Thankfully she hadn’t even tried to talk to him beyond basic greetings, much to his relief.

Luna Lovegood over at the Ravenclaw table squealed happily when she opened her letter, and put her elbow in her plate of scrambled eggs without noticing in all her excitement (though those sitting next to her snickered with amusement). Their laughter turned to envious gossipy murmurs when they saw her card, however.

His Slytherin friends were more restrained, thanking him quietly outside the Potions classroom later that day, and Millicent also stopped by the Gryffindor table at dinner to thank Storm for the thought and offered him a Flobberworm (which he ate happily).

Pansy gossiped in secretive whispers to Harry about Tracey’s date when she got a chance. “Goldstein asked Tracey out on a picnic on Sunday – a _date_ – and they were chaperoned by his friend Michael Corner, and Daphne. Daphne said Goldstein was a perfect gentleman and didn’t even try to hold Tracey’s hand. Tracey thinks Corner is sweet on Daphne, but _I_ think Stephen Cornfoot would be a better match for her. What do you think?”

“Cornfoot’s a smart guy – I remember him backing me up last year when Snape showed up at Imbolc. I don’t know Corner that well. Does she really want to date someone? I don’t know, whomever of the two she likes best, I guess,” Harry said vaguely.

Pansy nodded sagely with a smile, like she was very satisfied with his answer. Harry congratulated himself on successfully navigating the social minefield of the day without incident.

That evening as the sun set with what seemed like unusual slowness, with Neville standing wait ready to provide emotional support to his friend, Harry waited with trepidation for the influx of Valentine’s Day correspondence. Thankfully this year while the cards were greater in number, and had a few cards that he suspected _might_ be girls _actually_ wanting dates (no thank you!), there were no proposals of marriage of any kind, and he went to bed with a sigh of relief at having escaped unscathed.

-000-

“Have you heard back yet from the Minister?” asked Hermione on a Thursday morning a week later as they walked to Potions together.

Harry frowned as he replied, “No, nothing yet.”

“I haven’t seen anything in the Prophet,” volunteered Neville.

“No doubt they’re investigating, but keeping it quiet. He probably doesn’t want to start a panic. He seemed very conscious of the media, when I met him.”

“It’s odd no-one’s come by to talk to you about it. It didn’t sound like you gave a lot of details in your letter,” fretted Hermione. “Maybe there’s too much speculation and not enough evidence.”

“I told him Dumbledore and Professor Snape suspected a connection too – maybe he’s just talking with them. Or maybe with Lockhart. I did mention the whole Tom Riddle connection with the diary and how he was really Lord Voldemort,” Harry whispered quietly, “to explain why I thought possession was an option - I explained that Lockhart didn’t want to say it was really the Dark Lord instead of just some random young Dark wizard because no-one would believe him and he didn’t want to cause a panic. Maybe the Minister doesn’t want to worry people either.”

“I would wager he has got a whole team of Aurors working on it,” Neville whispered excitedly.

“Maybe he doesn’t believe me. Maybe he needs more proof,” worried Harry. “Surely some Aurors will come to the school soon. They came fast enough when they thought he’d been in the castle. Black, that is. Not the Dark… You-Know-Who.”

Potions was a breeze as usual, and Neville had been thrilled at the improvement in their grade for shared work that had begun in January when Harry had admitted he was now just going to do the best he could, and take whatever mark it was worth. Hermione meanwhile was acting smugly pleased every time Snape complimented Harry’s work, satisfied that the improvement in their teacher’s treatment of Harry (and incidentally of Neville) was all due to her intervention (though she’d still not said a word about it to either of them).

At lunch, Finnigan stopped by their spot at the table briefly to ask if they’d seen Weasley.

“Sorry, no. I haven’t seen him,” said Neville apologetically.

“It’s not like him to miss lunch. I thought he might be out training, but Wood says Hufflepuff has the pitch for lunch today,” explained Finnigan.

“Did you try the Hospital Wing?” suggested Harry.

Finnigan’s face cleared of worry. “Yeah, that’s probably it. I’ll check there. He was muttering about some Slytherin prat earlier this morning, now I think about it. He’s probably gotten himself hexed.”

When the Gryffindors filed into the DADA classroom Finnigan reported that Ron hadn’t been at the Hospital Wing either. But there was a stranger absence than Weasley wagging classes. Professor Lupin hadn’t shown up to teach the class, and (more unusually) neither had a substitute teacher.

“Is it the time… you know?” asked Neville with a meaningful look to his friends.

“No,” said Hermione with an authoritative shake of her head.

Harry flipped through his homework planner. “She’s right, that’s February twenty-sixth – Saturday. He’s due to take off tomorrow, and the weekend.”

“It’s just one day early,” mused Hermione. “Maybe it’s a tough month for him for some reason?”

Some of the other students were starting to realise that no-one was showing up, and splitting up into groups to chat and play cards. Hermione frowned with disapproval. “This is a waste of valuable class time,” she complained to them both. “Harry, you should lead the class. I for one would appreciate another lesson about the Patronus Charm.”

“Oh yes, Harry! That would be great!” enthused Neville.

Harry eventually yielded to peer pressure when a couple of other students joined in to urge him to teach.

“Oh, all right,” he said reluctantly. “But I want it understood that I am _not_ acting as a Defence teacher, and am just leading an impromptu meeting of Potter Watch.”

“Scared of the curse, Potter?” teased Dunbar, whom Harry mostly knew as the Gryffindor Quidditch team’s Seeker, but didn’t know really well.

“You bet!” he retorted shamelessly, to a chorus of laughter.

“Alright, so anyone who wants to work on the Patronus Charm, which is good for driving off Dementors, also known as Lemures, I’ll be giving a talk about it and then we’ll practice. And anyone who doesn’t want to learn it, that’s no skin off my nose. I’m not your teacher, and you won’t lose any points. Just do something quietly at your desks instead – maybe catch up on some homework or read the textbook or something so you don’t distract people who are working, okay?”

In the end everyone joined in, when it was clear the vast majority were going along with the plan for an impromptu class. There were only a few Gryffindors who _hadn’t_ joined his middle Potter Watch group already (Lavender Brown was distinctly uninterested for instance), and of those, Dunbar shook his hand at the end of the lesson and promised that she wanted to join to.

“I’m thinking of becoming an Auror when I graduate, and I didn’t realise your group was covering new material,” she said, impressed by his corporeal Hippocampus Patronus, and the swirls of mist some other regulars had managed to conjure, while she’d only managed faint wisps. “I’d like to come along in the future, if that’s alright with you.”

Harry shrugged. “The more the merrier.”

“I wonder what happened to Professor Lupin,” she said. “All lesson I kind of kept expecting Professor Snape to sweep in and tell us off for mucking about, and to open to page four hundred and twenty-one, or something.”

“Me too.”

After Defence they had Care of Magical Creatures as their last class of the day. On the way there, Neville got delayed briefly when he was called aside by a first year with a message.

“You two go ahead, I’ll catch you up,” he said, waving them onwards as he headed back inside the castle.

Hagrid’s class was outdoors as usual, and Hermione bemoaned the lack of theoretical lessons, but Harry thought it was a nice change from all the others. Neville dashed into the class a little late (and out of breath) but didn’t lose any points from Gryffindor, so that was alright.

Professor Hagrid taught cheerfully about gnomes, still full of joy from learning a week or so ago that Steelclaw was going to be moved to a reservation, and not put to death. He seemed to be acting nicer towards Draco during class, who acted smug about their Professor’s more courteous attitude. Harry suspected his father had dropped the charges against the Hippogriff in return for some kind of consideration, though Draco wouldn’t admit it or give details.

“Hey Potter,” called Dean Thomas, as they headed back towards the castle. “Wait up!” He jogged to catch up, and Harry and Hermione waited patiently. Neville seemed impatient to get going, but trotted back to them when he saw they weren’t moving.

“Potter, I was wondering if you’d found Ron?”

“Found him? I wasn’t looking for him,” Harry said with confusion. “He wasn’t in class…”

“Well obviously he wasn’t in class. But weren’t you helping look for him? I was wondering if you spotted him when you were zipping about on your broom?”

“What? When?”

“On the way to Care. Did you see him? I know Finnigan was going to check the greenhouses. I hope he made it to Muggle Studies in time. Better yet, I hope he found Ron.”

“I haven’t been on my broom since the holidays,” Harry said puzzledly. “I came straight to class. Are you sure it wasn’t someone else you saw?”

Thomas shrugged uncertainly. “I thought it was you? Mind you, you’ve usually got a better seat on your broom. Whoever it was, they were sitting much too far forward. Must’ve just been someone else with black hair and glasses,” he concluded with a bit of a frown. “Look, I’m going to go talk to a teacher. Missing a class or two is no big deal, I can see him trying that, though he usually likes DADA and Care. But it’s weird for him to skip lunch too.”

“I hope he’s okay,” worried Harry. “He’d better not have wandered into the Forbidden Forest or something. I think telling someone is a good idea.”

Neville looked really anxious at the thought. “I agree,” he said agitatedly, “it could be really urgent, or important. He might be hurt and need help.”

Draco shrugged unconcernedly. “If he is stupid enough to go into a forest filled with Dementors he deserves whatever comes to him.”

Crabbe and Greg snickered in unison at that. Pansy just smiled.

“Did _you_ hex him?” Thomas asked Draco, suspicious accusation obvious in his voice.

“Not today, but if someone else did I would be happy to shout them a Butterbeer,” Draco said, smiling wickedly.

Thomas glared at the Slytherins before dashing off in a determined sprint towards the castle, hanging tight onto his hat so it wouldn’t blow off, while Harry and his other friends had made their way in a more leisurely and bickering fashion up to the castle (some with wands warily drawn, just in case).

By the time they reached it, Hogwarts was already going into lockdown. Shutters were slamming down on the windows, and suits of armour were looking around alertly. Professor Sprout stood ready at the main doors, and herded them all quickly inside.

“Off to your dorms, everyone. Quickly now!”

“What’s going on, Professor?” Draco asked politely.

“Ronald Weasley has been kidnapped by Sirius Black!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know – another cliffhanger! But on the plus side, there’s a new chapter every Tuesday morning (Australian time) until the whole fic is uploaded – guaranteed. It’s all finished and ready to go. :)
> 
> Licha and Guests – Thanks for your reviews!


	22. Time to Get Sirius!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a little hint from Neville, the rescue mission to search for Ron begins! Sirius Black had better watch out!

**_Thursday, 24 th February, 1994_ **

It was a tense time inside the Gryffindor dorm. No-one knew anything meaningful so there was a lot of wildly speculative gossip, and the portrait had been instructed to keep them all inside on lockdown. Harry wasn’t the only person with a drawn wand ready, just in case Sirius blasted his way into the dorm. A few people even stood guard at the windows, calling out excitedly whenever they saw Aurors roaming around the grounds. Neville kept pacing back and forth, patting his pocket occasionally as if to reassure himself that his wand was still in there, and checking the time on his pocket watch occasionally for some reason. Hermione was sticking like glue to Harry’s side, worried that he would be the next target and determined not to let him out of her sight.

After an hour or so of fruitless speculation and a rash of self-recriminations – if only they’d realised _sooner_ that Weasley being missing was serious – there was a surge of students towards the portrait hole as Professor McGonagall entered with the remaining Weasley family members, Thomas, and Finnigan.

There was a hubbub of voices all loudly demanding answers, though Harry was quiet and white-faced, hoping her grave face and the dried tears on Ginny’s face didn’t mean that Ron Weasley had been found dead. He couldn’t help but feel it would be all his fault somehow, if so. He startled as he felt someone squeeze his left hand. Realising whose it was, he smiled at Hermione gratefully for her support.

“Quiet! Quiet!” Professor McGonagall called loudly, and people settled down to hear her news. “Unfortunately Ronald Weasley is still missing, believed to have been lured away from the castle with a forged letter purporting to be from a Slytherin student challenging him to a duel at lunchtime. The handwriting has been identified as that of Sirius Black. No other sign has been found of Black – you should be safe inside the castle particularly now it is closed and barred – the old battle-ready spells are in effect, and Aurors are on patrol in and around Hogwarts.

“Thankfully, no other students have gone missing – you are all accounted for, and thank you to the prefects for doing that check. Unfortunately, one of our teachers is also unaccounted for. Professor Lupin has also been missing since lunch time.” There was a murmur of surprise and interest at her news.

“If only we’d sent a message when he didn’t show up for class,” moaned Hermione miserably. “I just assumed the teachers knew.”

“We all did,” Neville said, looking at Professor McGonagall where she stood chatting with students, before glancing at his watch again.

“What do you keep doing that for?” asked Harry.

Neville hunched his shoulders and looked away from him. “No particular reason,” he mumbled. “I’m just curious how long we have been stuck in here. If it goes on much longer they will need to bring us dinner. It’s been a couple of hours – it’s just after five, in case you wanted to know too.”

Harry went over to apologise to Percy and the other Weasleys, who were in a supportive and sad cluster all together.

“I’m sorry,” he said to them guiltily, “I should have realised it was serious when he skipped classes. And now… Black… Maybe if I’d talked to Ron less at school, Black wouldn’t have been after him.”

“It’s alright, Harry,” said Percy, giving Ginny a hug. “You helped save Ginny last year. You’ve done more than enough for our family. This isn’t your fault.”

She nodded silently in mute agreement.

“Thank you,” said Harry, choking up.

“They’ll find him,” insisted one of the twins fiercely.

The other nodded in fervent agreement. “We gave the Aurors something that should help them track him down. We had to think about it a while but… with it they’ll find him for sure.” Harry had never seen them look so grave and serious in all the time he’d known them.

“At least, if he hasn’t gone too far, that is,” the first one sighed.

Harry nodded. He’d read that if you had a sample of hair or better yet, blood, that it could help you with casting Scrying spells. They were illegal, however. Messing about with body parts in a spell was classified as Dark magic and strictly forbidden by the Ministry. But maybe they’d stretch the rules for a case like this. He didn’t push for more specifics – he didn’t want to make them admit any wrongdoing.

“Do they think Professor Lupin helped kidnap him?” Harry worried. “I don’t want to sound… well… He’s nice enough. It’s just that we haven’t had a lot of luck with Defence teachers the past couple of years.”

The Weasley boys looked at each other, and as they answered in a whisper Harry and several other nosy students nearby huddled in close to hear their answer. “Professor Dumbledore didn’t want people to talk about it, but apparently Professor Lupin is a werewolf!”

There were gasps from around them, and the listeners pressed closer, shielding their conversation from Professor McGonagall’s notice. “Professor Sprout was the one who actually said it, though Professor Snape was the one ranting most about how untrustworthy the man was, and how he’d argued against him being hired. Especially given his past friendship with Black!”

“Yeah,” sighed Harry. “He, Black, Pettigrew and my dad were all friends in school, long ago. And he’s definitely a werewolf.”

Pressed for details, Harry went up to his dorm (trailed by Hermione) and brought down his photo album to show everyone some pictures of the men together.

The man’s character was thus established as an untrustworthy secretive Dark creature – he was a werewolf, friend of Black, and very likely abetted the kidnap of Ronald Weasley. People were suddenly murmuring about how they’d never liked or trusted him at all, and how constantly teaching about Dark creatures in class was suspicious. It reminded Harry uncomfortably of how many of them had turned on him when it’d first been revealed he was a Parselmouth, but he didn’t really want to speak out against such a crowd, when the evidence seemed against Lupin. Harry felt a bit like a hypocrite, and didn’t know what to say, so just stayed silent. He kept quiet about Lupin’s attack on Snape – he wasn’t sure whether to say anything about it or not, given there was an Unbreakable Vow to take into consideration, and he didn’t know much about why it was needed or how it worked. Snape might want it kept secret too. Harry did comment on Professor Lupin’s Boggart being a full moon, and how he was always too “sick” to teach classes at the full moon, however.

As the sun set below the horizon with a glorious display of red-orange clouds that went totally unappreciated by all present, Harry retrieved his photo album from the crowd (tired of it being pawed over and hearing his father’s taste in friends disparaged) to return it to his trunk. Hermione and Neville followed him watchfully.

A small row of owls awaited him on the dorm windowsill, and he settled down with a sigh to read his evening correspondence. “Give me a moment, will you? I may as well get these fluffballs off with return messages.”

Neville settled down on his own bed near Harry’s, to give him a little breathing space while he read his mail, and Hermione wandered over to stand guard at the door. He hoped there wasn’t another letter from Qui- Riddle. He really didn’t want that extra stress right now.

The first couple of letters were from fans outside the school panicking that they’d heard Aurors had been sent to Hogwarts, and hoping he was alright. He scrawled out a few quick “Thanks, I’m fine!” messages explaining that Ronald Weasley and Professor Lupin were missing, with a suspected (but unproven as yet) connection to Sirius Black.

The fourth owl’s message was something special.

_“Harry,_

_I have your friend, Ronald Weasley. If you want him back safe, you must tell no-one, and come to the Shrieking Shack. If you do so, I will let him go._

_Yours apologetically,  
Sirius Black _

_P.S. Don’t be scared - I swear I’m not going to hurt or kill you. I just want to talk. There’s some things you need to hear._

_P.P.S. You must arrive before three o’clock. If I see or hear a sign of any teachers I’m gone, so don’t try it, kid.”_

“Oh no!” cried Harry, and when his friends rushed over he wordlessly showed them the letter – Hermione snatched it up first and read it through with a gasp.

“I’m already too late!” Harry moaned as he thought about the deadline, glancing out the window at the darkening sky. Stupid owl ward. Maybe Black was still there? He could try alerting the Aurors.

Hermione babbled something about telling teachers right away, but he barely heard her, so sunk in his guilt that if only he didn’t have an owl ward up he would’ve gotten this letter _hours_ ago. If Sirius Black killed Ron because he didn’t show up, it _would be all his fault_.

Neville, taking his turn to quickly read through the letter, spoke up with some advice. “I doubt you’re too late to do anything. It seems to me that you and Hermione are never lacking in enough time to get things done.”

Harry stared at him.

“It is currently quarter to six,” Neville said, fishing his fob watch out of his pocket for another glance, and then staring back at Harry meaningfully.

“Did I-?”

“-I promised not to say anything,” Neville said quietly but with fierce determination, gaze flickering between Harry and Hermione. “We’re not discussing it. It’s important, apparently.”

“Oh!” gasped Hermione, wide-eyed.

Harry puzzled it out. _Thomas said he’d seen me out flying, but I went straight to Care, and I can’t be in two places at once,_ he concluded in the quiet of his mind. _Except that I can. If I can get Hermione to help me in time. We’re getting awfully close to the safe four hour limit for time travel._

“Thanks, Neville.”

“Any time,” he replied with a worried smile.

Harry pulled Hermione over to the other side of the room, next to Finnigan’s bed. “Hermione, quick, I need the Time Turner,” hissed Harry quietly.

“Yes, I got that too. But… on your own?” whispered Hermione, shocked. “We should tell a teacher, Harry! They could borrow it and use it to save Ron!”

“No! You see, I’ve figured it out from things Neville and Thomas have said. I’ve _already gone back in time_ to do something about it! Thomas saw me doing stuff earlier today that I didn’t do yet – he saw me flying, remember? So I can’t ruin that, or you know – paradox and bad stuff!” He waved his hands wildly in the air to indicate the potential catastrophic breakdown of the timestream as words failed him. “Neville said we can’t talk to him about it – I must’ve said something about that hours ago.”

“Oh my God!” she hissed worriedly. “Alright, I can see that. But I’m coming with you. I’m going to repay my life debt and save you when you get into trouble, as you no doubt will at some point.”

“You can’t! Besides, you’ve already used the Time-Turner today. You can’t loop time on itself twice!”

“I haven’t used it since midday,” she said stubbornly. “It’s a Thursday, and I don’t repeat the afternoon on Thursdays. You won’t be able to go back further than just before two o’clock anyway. But Harry, are you sure about this?”

“Yes! Look at Neville,” he said, and Hermione glanced across the room to where Neville was watching the two of them intently from a distance. “He keeps checking his watch. I think in the future – in the past – I told him to do something after I’d gone back in time. But look Hermione, you can’t come with me because nobody saw you.”

“But Thomas _did_ see you riding your broom oddly,” she countered. “I could be on it too, under your Invisibility Cloak. You _will_ let me come with you, Harold James Potter, or I _won’t_ lend you _my_ Time-Turner!”

“Fine, fine!” he said in desperation. “But let’s hurry!”

As she pulled the Time-Turner out from under her robe, Neville muttered, “Five forty-seven, good luck you two.” He grabbed Sirius’ letter to Harry off the bed. Then, tucking away his watch and giving his pocket a final pat, he strode determinedly out of the dorm and closed the door behind him.

“See?” Hermione said triumphantly.

“Sure, you’re a genius, we knew that already,” grumbled Harry, making her poke her tongue out at him before laughing. “Okay, hop on my bed and we’ll draw the curtains – it’s the most private spot for this we’ll get with the dorm in lockdown. We don’t want people to see us pop in out of nowhere at a quarter to two, if someone happened to be in the dorm then.”

Thankfully no-one else was around – most people were still milling around the Common Room gossiping and waiting for news. Hermione brought out the Time-Turner and looped the long chain over both their necks, and giving it four spins, making the world whirl around them.

Bright afternoon sunlight was streaming through the windows when they arrived in the past. The maroon curtains on Harry’s four-poster bed were of course tied back to the bedposts as was usual during the day, and Harry mentally kicked himself for not thinking that through. Luckily, there was no-one around to observe them. “Excellent, no-one’s here. Alright, I’ve got my wand. Pity the Aurors sent my knife back to Dudley. Wait – wood to silver.” Harry dug a pencil out of his trunk, and transfigured it to a giant silver pointy needle to secrete in his robe pocket.

“Better than nothing! Especially good if Lupin shows up, too. Alright, invisibility cloak – here, that’s for you,” he said, passing it over. “And I need my broom – I guess it _is_ the fastest way to the Shack. And Storm, of course.” He dug into the leaf litter in his tank, and grabbed Storm who objected with sleepy hisses to being woken up so early.

“ _Hush now. I promised you could help me hunt Sssirius Black if I ever went after him. Well, it’s time!_ ”

“ _Oh, alright then,_ ” his pet hissed grudgingly, and since Harry couldn’t find his satchel (realising with embarrassment that of course his past self must have it with him) he looped Storm around his neck.

“You really need to bring your pet?”

“I promised him,” Harry said stubbornly. “Say, now we’re back in time, do you think we should get some teachers to help? Or senior Potter Watch members? Someone else who’ll stay quiet, maybe?”

Hermione shook her head. “We can’t. Because we didn’t – we only talked to Neville, I think, and I don’t think he knew much except we’d gone back in time. No-one saw anyone but you, and maybe me under a cloak. Terrible things happen if you mess with time, Harry! We can’t risk it.”

“There must be something we can do! A message?”

Hermione straightened up like she had an idea. “Harry, I need some parchment and a quill. I think we should write Neville a letter, telling him to not open it until after five to six. No – a letter for him that he should share with a teacher at that time. The letter can explain precisely what we’re doing, and to bring help to the Shrieking Shack.”

“Brilliant! Then the cavalry can come save us, and hopefully the timestream shouldn’t be ruined. You know what, that’s probably why he kept checking the time.”

“Indeed,” she said smugly. “And the letter’s probably in his pocket. We’re in lockdown in the dorm – well, we will be – so maybe we should ask Neville to alert Professor McGonagall? She’ll be someone he could give it to quickly.”

“Or Professor Snape,” added Harry. “He’d be good to help too. Write a second letter, and I’ll give it to a Slytherin on our way.”

“Do you really trust him for something like this, given he used to be a Death Eater?” she asked, writing frantically in the knowledge that they didn’t have much time before they needed to be seen just after two o’clock travelling between classes, and to make their plan to rescue Ron.

“You know about that?”

“I researched it ages ago after Neville yelled at me about him once. He spent some time in Azkaban, but was released after Dumbledore officially vouched for him at his trial and explained he was a spy. Which was pretty brave of him, don’t you think? But it might be hard for him to fight against an old friend who joined the Death Eaters with him – that’s what I’m worried about.”

Harry said thoughtfully, “I don’t trust him in everything. But I trust him to want revenge on Black – you can see the hate burning in his eyes. He’s no friend of Lupin’s, either. I’m as sure as I can be that he’ll be on our side, not theirs.”

“I hope this works,” Hermione muttered as she scribbled down her note furiously. “Six o’clock might be too late for them to help us, but it’s better than nothing, surely. Unless everything goes really well and we just hide out quietly where we won’t be seen until six? We can’t be spotted doubling up – it could ruin the timestream in unpredictable ways. I know! Let’s tell them where to find us at six if all is well!”

“Great idea! Add that if we’re safe we will be hiding out in or near _Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop_ , or possibly in the castle, until after six. That gives us a couple of options.”

Hermione wrote down the postscript, and then folded the parchment a couple of times to hide the contents of the letter inside before sealing it with a hasty blob of wax. “Alright, the letter for Neville is ready – I’ll give it to him and explain things quickly. Paradox loops are so confusing. This is why hiding out when we’ve used the Time-turner in the past has been such a sensible idea. Which Slytherin are you going to give yours to?”

“Millicent, Greg, or maybe Draco,” he concluded after a little thought. “They’ll be least likely to peek at it early, and Millicent owes me a favour still. Yes, definitely Millicent, if I can find her.”

“ _Geminio!_ ” Hermione incanted, and with a flick of her wand at the letter a second copy magically appeared. She scribbled Neville’s name on one, and Millicent’s on the other.

“Wow! A photocopy spell? You _have_ to teach me that one,” Harry said, very impressed.

“The Gemino Curse can be used on most non-living items,” Hermione said, “I’ll show you it later. The copies don’t last forever, but it should be fine for today – it only needs to last four hours after all. It’s very handy for copying passages from library books if you’ve reached your borrowing limit.”

“The limit here is twenty books!” objected Harry.

Hermione looked at him with blank incomprehension as to why he didn’t see the obvious problem with that. “Come on. We have to hurry.”

With two letters ready to deliver, they split up (after Harry promised on the Potter family honour _not_ to sneak off after Ron without Hermione, at her insistence).

Hermione got a passing first year to fetch Neville for her so she could deliver Neville’s letter to him in private, firmly instructing him to promise _not_ to open it early or mention anything about seeing her or the letter to Harry. Harry meanwhile went in search of Millicent. He spotted her, but she was in a group with Daphne and Tracey heading off to Arithmancy - their last class of the day – and he _knew_ Daphne at least wouldn’t rest until she’d ferreted out what was going on. He cursed quietly to himself as he hid around a corner, peeking at them.

“Girl problems?” asked a deep voice nearby, with obvious amusement. Harry turned to see Montague watching him with a curious smile. “You should get some of your other friends to distract a few of them, so you can talk to your lady more privately. Which one is it?”

“Millicent, but it’s not-”

He gave a barking laugh. “-Ha! Bulstrode! Flint owes me a galleon. His money was on Daphne.”

“No, it’s not like that!” Harry insisted. “I just need to give her a letter, but it has to be done in secret.”

“Indeed! The Bulstrode family is notoriously strict on etiquette in such matters. A secret letter is merely one short step away from a secret engagement, after all.”

Harry moaned, “Nooo, it’s just a letter. Not a love letter, I swear in Merlin’s name.”

“Whether it is or not is beside the point, Potter. It’s the appearance of propriety that’s critical if you don’t want to end up honour bound to begin drafting a betrothal contract. As obviously you know or you wouldn’t be skulking about in the shadows. A pity you don’t have someone around to help you out with your clandestine endeavour that must remain secret at all costs…” Montague hinted.

Harry sighed. He really didn’t have time for all this Slytherin manoeuvring. “Okay, fine. I’m in a hurry here. Get this letter secretly to Millicent without the other girls knowing about it, and tell her I’m calling in my favour she owes me for the snakes. She’ll know what I mean. She must open the letter _only_ at five to six this evening. No sooner – it’s vitally important. And I’ll owe _you_ a favour for helping out and staying quiet about it.”

“Deal.” They shook on it, the letter was handed over for discreet delivery, and then Harry dashed off down the twisting maze of draughty stone passageways to meet Hermione at the small courtyard they’d picked as their meeting place. It was bitterly cold outside, and the wind whipped a fine spray of icy water from the courtyard’s mermaid-decorated fountain into his face. He wrapped his thick fur-lined cloak tightly around his body to ward off the chill.

“Finally!” Hermione said, rising up from one of the cold stone benches where she’d been sitting as she waited. “What took you so long?”

“Well-”

“-It doesn’t matter,” she said, cutting off his response. “We’ll miss our chance to be spotted by Dean at the Quidditch pitch if we don’t hurry!”

Hermione threw the silky invisibility cloak over her head, which winked invisible again as soon as it was covering something.

Hopping on his broomstick, Harry shuffled forward slightly so that there was room for Hermione to sit behind him. “Hang on tight, alright?”

“Okay. Just don’t… don’t crash.” Her hands gripped his waist tightly.

As they zoomed off into the sky, Harry spotted a couple of faces watching him through a window. Remembering what Thomas had said earlier about seeing him, he gave him a little wave.

“Mission accomplished, we were just spotted by Thomas,” he said, as they rocketed off towards the cover of the treeline, heading in the direction of the Shrieking Shack.

Hermione let out a quiet whimper behind him and clung tighter.

-000-

With the Shrieking Shack in sight, Harry landed short of it in a clump of trees, for a quick conference. Hermione hopped off the broom with a sigh of relief, and wobbly knees.

They agreed after a brief discussion that Hermione would be their secret ace in the hole, ready to attack at a key moment, though exactly what that would consist of was a matter of some dispute.

“I want you to stay under the cloak, and wait for a clear shot at Black’s back. Lupin too, if they’re in cahoots. Black’s the priority.”

She looked surprised. “Shoot them in the back?!”

“Yes in the back! I’d happily curse him if he was _asleep_ holding a teddy bear! He’s a mass murderer, and we’re just students!”

Hermione looked uncertain. “Look,” said Harry, “he says he wants to talk, so I should be alright at first. At least for a while. I’ll try and distract him, maybe get him to walk to a spot so you’ll get a clean shot.

“But...” Harry added hesitantly, “if I think I have a shot I’ll attack him too of course. If I can take him out before he realises what I’m doing…”

“Oh Harry!” Hermione said with a worried cry, hugging him tight and making Storm complain.

“ _She is constricting me. Make her ssstop. I am not prey._ ”

Storm wanted to join in the planning too. “ _I will sssneak in on my own, and sssummon lightning at the killer, or anyone else threatening you, Harold_. _And if I track and find the ssspotty boy, I will lead one of you to him if we can get there sssecretly,_ ” he suggested. Harry explained Storm’s plans to find Ron to Hermione, and then they were as ready to go as they were going to get.

-000-

Harry nervously snuck up to the Shrieking Shack, and opened the door as quietly as he could. He hoped to maybe take Black by surprise, but he was sitting on a battered old chair facing the door with a wand in his hand, grinning at him as he came in. A very quick glance around the dusty room showed Ron unconscious and tied up in a corner on top of what looked like a very shredded mattress, and Professor Lupin was next to him, with his face submerged in a silvery pool of liquid in a carved stone birdbath, for some bewildering reason. Clearly he was at best no threat, and at worst in collusion with Black. Given he hadn’t saved Ron, and didn’t look particularly hurt, the safe money would be on the latter.

“Harry, I’m so glad you made it!” said Black in a very pleased voice, like seeing him arrive was the highlight of his day. “I knew you’d come for your friend.” He was still dressed in the stained jeans and hoodie that Harry had seen him in at King’s Cross Station (now with some tears and new stains). With the hood down this time you could see his long dark hair was filthy and matted, hanging in a messy tangle right down to his elbows. His yellowed teeth were bared in a disturbing grin.

“Of course I would, and I’m happy to be here,” Harry said with a smile, stepping into the shadowy room, hand tight on his wand but leaving it down at his side for just a moment longer.

Black flicked his wand without bothering with an incantation and the door slammed shut behind him, making him jump. Another flick and a heavy wooden bar fell into place on some large hooks, barring the door. Harry worried about Hermione – he thought he heard a soft thump as the door closed, and guessed she might’ve gotten stuck outside.

“Really?” said Black, perking up even more. “So you believe me that I won’t hurt you?”

“Yes, you see I really want to know-” And then Harry cut himself off by swiftly pointing his wand at Sirius Black’s ribcage.

“ _Ossio Dis-_ ” was all he got out of the incantation for the Deboning Spell before with a flick of Sirius’ wand and a rapid-fire cry of “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” his spell was interrupted as his wand went flying out of his hand.

Harry dove for his wand, wishing he’d opted for a spell with a _shorter_ incantation, but got hit with a Leg-Locker Curse before he made it there, and crashed painfully to the old wooden floorboards in a cloud of dust, not far from where Professor Lupin _still_ had his face in the birdbath. Did he not need to breathe?

“Sorry about that,” said Black.

“Quite all right, we’re still friends about to have a chat, yeah?” said Harry a bit desperately. “No need to go killing me or anything?”

With his legs stuck tight together in an awkward position, he crawled along the floor using his arms to pull himself along as fast as he could, closer to Lupin, and his wand.

“Oh yes, still friends,” said Black with a crazy-sounding laugh. “ _Accio wand!_ ”

Harry’s wand went flying across the room to Black’s hand, but Harry’s wild snatch for it was to no avail – its flight path was just too far out of reach. Harry cursed quietly.

“What shall I do with you?” Black muttered to himself. “You’re still fighting me. You’re not supposed to do that.”

“Why don’t you come over here and help me up?” suggested Harry to the madman. “It’s not very comfortable on the floor.”

“Oh no,” he said with laugh and a shake of his head, patting his side gingerly. “I’ve learned my lesson there, and still have the bandages to prove it.”

“Alright then,” said Harry, dragging himself along the floor closer to Lupin and Ron. He wondered where Hermione was, but after a glance at the boarded up windows he guessed she was probably trying to find another way in. In the front room he was in there was a shadowy hallway leading further into the house – he carefully avoided watching it too much, lest he draw attention to it.

“Can we talk? You have to listen – it’s important,” Sirius said.

“I’m listening,” said Harry, inching a tiny bit closer.

“Did you know I’m your godfather? I was supposed to take care of you if something happened to your parents. I want to do that. I know I haven’t done a good job-”

“-Yeah, you got them killed,” Harry interrupted angrily.

“Yes… and no,” Sirius said. “I didn’t betray them, Harry. I let them down, but I didn’t betray them.”

“Uh huh,” said Harry disbelievingly, shifting a little closer to Lupin and trying to make it look natural, like he was just trying to move to a more comfortable position.

“We switched you see! I was supposed to be the Secret Keeper, but we changed it at the last minute to fool the Death Eaters!”

“So if you didn’t betray them, who did?” Harry saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, so ignored it very studiously to look at Black.

“Scabbers! Weasley’s rat! It was him all along! Not me at all! Pettigrew isn’t dead, you see! It was that nasty little rat!” he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth in his fit of rage. Then his voice dropped briefly back into something resembling sanity as he continued in a calmer tone, “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. Sorry I yelled, Harry. I just want you to understand the truth.”

Harry had stopped moving for a moment, staring blankly at the man. “Sure,” he said, in an overly calm soothing voice. “The evil rat did it all. It’s all so clear now. Thanks for explaining. You can let me go now, I won’t try anything.”

“I’m doing this wrong. It went better with Moony, I just had to show him the picture and he gave me a chance,” Black muttered, and briefly buried his face in his hands.

“NOW!” yelled Harry loudly, and he lunged for Professor Lupin, drawing the giant silver needle from his pocket as he did so.

With a swish of cloth onto the floor Hermione was suddenly revealed standing in the hallway. “ _Stupefy!_ ” she cried out, and a jet of red light hit Black as he looked up in surprise at Harry’s cry, and he toppled off his chair onto the floor with a loud thump, unconscious.

At the first touch of Harry’s hand on his back, Professor Lupin jerked out of his trance, and lifted his head out of the bowl, silver liquid spilling smoothly back into it leaving his face completely dry. He responded more quickly than Harry expected, and grabbed Harry’s wrist where the needle was jabbing at his stomach. The two of them tumbled to the ground and started wrestling, as a small black thundercloud formed above them all inside the room.

“Harry, stop, it’s not what you think!” yelled Lupin, as the needle scratched his stomach drawing a strangled scream from him as blood welled up in a thin red line.

“I know you’re in league with Black!” Harry yelled back. “And this is _silver_ , werewolf, so I suggest you surrender!” But Lupin didn’t seem inclined to stop, and with his greater strength prevailing, the grip on Harry’s wrist grew agonisingly painful until he was forced to drop his weapon.

Hermione crying out “ _Stupefy!_ ” again was the last thing Harry heard, as another jet of red light zipped towards them. Unfortunately, Lupin yanked Harry into the way of the shot as a human shield, and for a long while he knew only darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ossio Dispersimus is the Deboning Spell – Harry was hoping to fatally cast it on Black’s ribs.
> 
> Ace_Fan – Sunset time is based off the time for Inverness, Scotland for this date: 5:37pm. It was the closest I could get that looked reliably accurate. If you notice any minor inaccuracies, blame them on the children’s imprecise pocket watches. ;)
> 
> If it's any comfort, the *next* chapter doesn't end with a cliffhanger.
> 
> Question for my AO3 readers - do my stories in this series have too many tags? Which, if any, do you think should be cut?


	23. Let's Have a Sirius Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius explains the truth of his parents’ betrayal to a very sceptical Harry.

**_Thursday, 24 th February, 1994_ **

“That should do it,” came Lupin’s voice, as he awoke.

“Watch out, he’s a bit stabby. He’s a determined little scrapper, magic bless him. Are you sure those ropes are tight enough?” asked Black, as Harry opened his eyes and looked blearily around. He was flat on his back on the dusty floorboards of the Shrieking Shack, trussed up in magical conjured ropes and unable to move an inch. He had a frightening sense of déjà vu, and his breath started coming quickly.

“Definitely. He’s not going anywhere.”

“I think it’s going to take some time to convince him,” sighed Black.

“He’s not the most trusting boy I’ve ever met,” said Lupin. “He’s a bit wary.”

“You don’t have time to do _anything_ ,” Harry said desperately. “People will come looking for us at any moment. Just leave now. You don’t want the trouble that you’d get from killing the Boy Who Lived. Every wizard in Britain would be out for your head.”

“Used to talking his way out of trouble, isn’t he?” Black said conversationally to Lupin.

“He’s a smooth one, butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth,” said Lupin, and then let out a sharp hiss of pain. “Easy there. Not too tight with the bandages. It burns all around the wound – silver is nasty. Luckily it’s not too deep, but I think it will still take months to heal.”

“Now we match!” laughed Black. Harry tried not to panic, or cry. They weren’t even paying attention to him, let alone acting convinced by what he was saying.

“He’s a fighter though, even with the snake and all,” Black said. “You can see why he’s in Gryffindor – he never gives up. He’s brave, don’t you think? James was just the same, he never quit.”

“You shut up about my dad!” Harry said, with angry tears welling up.

“Hush, Harry. You don’t understand right now – Sirius is innocent. We’re not your enemies, I promise,” said Lupin soothingly. “He’s right that we should leave though.”

“Where should we take him to?”

“How about Potter Cottage?” suggested Harry desperately. “It’s isolated. No-one’s there, and you can talk to me there. I’ll listen to you, I swear I will. Just let the others go.”

“That sounds-” Lupin started thoughtfully, but Black interrupted him.

“-No good,” he said, with a shake of his head. “Anti-Apparition and trespassing wards are still up. Harry might get through, but other wizards would be bounced outside at best, and Splinched at worst.”

Harry moaned miserably. It had been worth a try.

“Plus there’s a house-elf there. Nice little fellow. Gave Padfoot a dead rat at Yule. I thought for one blissful moment that it might be _him_ , but no such luck. It was a nice snack, though. Anyway, he’d raise the alarm if he saw us outside the house. I’m still too dizzy to Apparate that far, in any case. Drat that snake. I’ve never heard of a snake that makes lightning before!”

There was a couple of quick minutes of discussion between the two of them, and they relocated to a small cave in a hill outside Hogsmeade, with Harry and his two unconscious friends in tow (plus his unconscious pet snake) via Side-Along-Apparition. Once they arrived at the cave Harry was propped up against the rough stone wall in a sitting position, and had a better angle to see what was going on. He looked over worriedly at his friends – Hermione, Ron, and Storm were all still unconscious, and apart from the thick ropes around the two humans, they all looked otherwise healthy and unharmed. Hermione and Storm must have been caught after he'd been accidentally Stunned, but he was sure they'd tried their best.

After a secretive conference between Black and Lupin that Harry couldn’t overhear, Black approached Harry holding a small vial of clear liquid.

“Harry, this is Veritaserum, it’s a truth potion. I’m going to take some, and you can ask me any questions you like, and it would be great if you would ask me about being Secret Keeper for your parents, so you know that I didn’t betray them. And ask me about the rat, too.”

“Don’t worry so much Sirius,” said Lupin. “I can ask you things too. He’ll get the right information to convince him.”

“That could be anything,” Harry said suspiciously. “It looks like water. Or it could be poison.”

“Oh,” said Black sadly, looking downcast. “Well, look! Look at the paper!” he cried in a suddenly manic voice, thrusting a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in Harry’s face. “See the picture? It’s Wormtail! He’s alive!” His finger jabbed angrily at the picture of the Weasley family standing in front of the pyramids and waving happily at the camera, crumpling the paper as he poked the newspaper too roughly.

Lupin looked anguished as he watched Harry’s fearful face as Sirius yelled crazily at him. “Sirius… Sirius. Calm down – you’re scaring him. It’s alright. Remember, he doesn’t know who the rat is. Not like I did.”

“Oh… oh right. I remember. We could skip to the Pensieve?”

“No, stick with the plan,” said Lupin. “We don’t want him fighting his way out of the memories – that can go very badly. Give him a few drops of potion first so he knows what it is. We’ll give him the antidote, then you can have a turn.”

“How did you get the Veritaserum and the Pensieve on such short notice, anyway?” asked Black distractedly.

“Nicked them from Snape’s office,” Lupin said with a grin. “Wasn’t easy!”

Black laughed with wicked delight.

Over Harry’s objections, three drops of the potion were forcibly dripped into his mouth.

Sirius rubbed his hands together happily. “Alright, let’s start with an easy one! What’s your name?”

Though he wasn’t intending to say more than “Harry Potter, you idiots,” Harry’s mouth tumbled out more words than he’d expected. “Harold James Potter, Heir of the Noble House of Potter, Heir of Slytherin, also known as the Boy Who Lived. I prefer just plain Harry Potter.”

“Merlin, it’s true then,” gasped Professor Lupin, with a look of shock, recoiling slightly from Harry.

 _Like I’m the evil one here_ , Harry thought angrily. _Compared to a dangerous werewolf teamed up with a mass murdering kidnapper._

“Calm down you silly old fleabag, it could be right of conquest or something,” said Black with a shrug. “Or he could be wrong. Veritaserum only makes you say what you _believe_ is the truth, after all. It’s not like he’s actually claiming to be You-Know-Who. You’re not the Dark Lord, are you Harry?”

“No, of course not.”

“There go you, Moony.”

Lupin settled down, while Harry quietly hoped they wouldn’t ask him any more about that topic.

“Can you give me the antidote now?” he asked optimistically.

“Do you believe it’s Veritaserum and it will make me tell the truth?”

“I think it probably is,” said Harry, the words spilling out more truthfully than intended, with the soft potion-induced fog around his mind making him calmer and more biddable than usual. “But I think maybe someone could fight off the effects if they really wanted to.”

“Okay then Harry, let’s give you something you want to hide. Can you tell me the worst thing the Dursleys have ever done to you?” asked Black, with a flicker of anger in his eyes, making Lupin’s eyes widen.

Harry tried hard to say nothing, but after a few seconds his tightly pressed lips opened up and the words just spilled out against his will. “When I was six I accidentally Apparated onto a school roof. I got locked in my cupboard for a whole week for that, with very little food or water, and a bucket for a toilet.”

“Padfoot, what in Hades?!” shouted Lupin.

“He’s been abused there, Moony,” said Black angrily. “But I’m going to save him. We’ll explain it all to him, and then he can come and live with me, when I’m cleared! That’s why I need your help! I’ll adopt him, just like Charlus was going to do for me, before he died. You’d rather be safe and living with me than living with them, wouldn’t you, Harry?” No doubt he intended his smile to look friendly and welcoming, but the yellowed teeth in his gaunt face didn’t give him much hope of looking charming and amiable.

“No, I hate you,” said Harry, and he didn’t even try to stop the words this time. “I hate you more than anyone else in the world, even the Dark Lord, because you betrayed my parents and they _trusted_ you, and then they died. And I don’t want to live with you, and I don’t believe I’d be safe with you – you’re crazy. I would prefer to live with the Dursleys if I still can, even though they don’t actually want me living with them anymore because of you, and Mr. Parkinson, and me being a freak and bringing trouble to the family.”

Harry drew a shaky breath in as he tried to stay fierce instead of sad. The emotion-dulling effect of the potion just washed all the riotous feelings away, however, and he couldn’t hold onto the anger. Black’s face fell, and he thrust his empty hands out in Harry’s direction like he was trying to block out the words from hitting him.

“No. No, no! It wasn’t me! I didn’t kill him! Peter, that is! But I will! For your parents. I didn’t mean for them to die. And I’ll help you, Harry!! But now he’s gone… he ran away and you didn’t find him, and I couldn’t either…” Black looked very upset as he trailed off.

“Shh, it’s alright Padfoot. Focus on me. We’ll change his mind. I’m here to help, remember?” Lupin’s expression looked kind of bleak and lost, but his words were gentle. He rubbed small circles on the man’s back in an attempt to bring comfort, which seemed to help him regain his focus.

“Do you believe that this potion you took is a reliable truth potion now?” asked Lupin gently, turning to Harry.

“Yes.”

Lupin offered him the antidote, which he took gratefully, opening his mouth obediently like a hungry baby bird desperate for nourishment.

Black took a turn next being administered Veritaserum, at his own insistence.

“Go on, ask him whatever you want,” prompted Lupin.

“Do you want to hurt or kill me or any of my unconscious friends here? Or are you _planning_ to hurt or kill any of us, even if you don’t want to?” Harry asked warily.

“I don’t want to hurt any of you, except for the snake, because Storm hit me with lightning while you were unconscious and now I have a burn mark up my arm and chest like a weird red tree, and it really hurts and I’m dizzy and I’d like revenge on the slimy little thing if I could get away with it. But I’m not _planning_ on hurting him because I know he’s your pet and I want you to like me, so I’m going to leave him alone,” Sirius replied promptly.

Harry’s next questions were about Scabbers, then Pettigrew, and Secret Keepers. The whole story of bluff and betrayal unfolded, and Harry slowly became increasingly convinced of its veracity.

“Alright,” he said slowly. “I’m starting to believe you. But why did you kidnap Ron? And I want you to wake my friends up now. And untie me.”

“I wanted to show Moony Ron’s memories, so he could see Scabbers really was Wormtail. And I thought he’d make a good choice of friend to lure you to me on the sly, since I read in the magazine how you were good pals.”

With a couple of quick spells from Lupin, everyone was woken up.

“Oh, they got you too,” moaned Weasley as he awoke and saw Harry nearby. “I’m so sorry. I’m bait, Harry. And Lupin’s in on it! They have this weird obsession with my rat. They’re both crazy.”

As Storm woke up Harry warned him right away not to attack anyone.

“ _Oh, he’s ssstill alive_ ,” hissed Storm disappointedly on seeing Black. “ _I thought I got him with that lightning bolt_. _It was a big one – my best yet!_ ”

“ _You hurt him pretty badly, if it’ss any comfort,_ ” Harry reassured _._ “ _He’s pretty crosss about a big burn mark on his arm and chest. But listen, you can’t attack him or the other adult – there was a misunderstanding and they’re not going to attack me anymore._ ”

“ _They’re no threat now?_ ”

“ _No_.”

“ _Alright. I sure showed them_ ,” he hissed happily, pragmatically willing to let the whole matter drop since Harry assured him they’d won the fight and the danger was over.

Hermione was woken up last, and Black kept his wand trained on her warily as if he expected trouble. She was much less forgiving of it all than Storm had been. “The Aurors are going to catch you, and you’re _both_ going to get the Dementor’s Kiss, and I’m going to _laugh_ ,” she vowed viciously, despite her obvious fear.

“Hey, it’s alright. It’s complicated,” said Harry, “but I’m starting to believe them. You see, Peter Pettigrew was my parent’s Secret Keeper, _not_ Sirius Black. He never died at all! And he’s been hiding out in his Animagus form – a rat. Pettigrew was Scabbers, all along!” He explained it all to them, with occasional explanatory interjections from the adults.

“It doesn’t sound very likely to me,” said Weasley sceptically.

“He’s taken some Veritaserum – he can’t lie under that. They tested it on me first, so I’d know it works.”

“I’m not sure,” said Hermione sceptically. “I read that some people can beat the potion. And wouldn’t they have used it at his trial? If this is really the truth it should’ve come out then.”

“They should have used it at my trial, but I didn’t get one. I think. It’s been so many years in Azkaban my memory isn’t what it should be anymore,” babbled Black, still under the effects of the potion.

“He didn’t get a trial,” Lupin said guiltily. “I’m so sorry, Sirius. Back then, your guilt seemed so certain. With some of the earliest arrests before Crouch took over, people bought their way out of trouble – like Malfoy. So Dumbledore just kind of… smoothed the way. He talked to some people, and you went straight to Azkaban.”

“I didn’t know that. May his soul be dragged to Tartarus when he dies,” muttered Black angrily.

“I’m so sorry…” Lupin said softly. “Even if I’d said something against it, they wouldn’t have listened to me.”

“I know.” They sat there in silence for a moment, the two of them lost in memories of what might have been.

“Tell me about Scabbers – Pettigrew – he ran off, didn’t he?” asked Weasley eventually. “Or did you catch him? And what was with that spell you did on my head?”

“Yes, I read he ran off. I read about that in a magazine I nicked. I saw a photo of you and Harry and some other friends looking for him with Storm in _Witch Weekly_ ,” said Sirius. “I tried to find him too, but I didn’t catch him and I lost the trail in the forest and I had to run from the Dementors. I was going to kill him, so I sent you a kitten as weregild. But he’s in hiding again. Or eaten by something, maybe. I don’t know. And the spell was to get out a memory of you with Wormtail – that’s Peter’s name in rat form – so Remus could see he was still alive. I put the memory in the Pensieve for him to see.”

Ron blinked in surprise. “Kyle… my Kneazle kitten was a gift from you?”

“Yes.”

“Creevey,” muttered Harry. “I guess he sent off a picture to the magazine.”

“So what are your plans now?” Hermione asked.

“To finish convincing Harry I’m innocent, clear my name, and take him away from those horrible Dursleys to live in safety with me where I can spoil him rotten until he likes me again,” Black responded. “But if I get a lead on Wormtail I might run off and try and kill him if I can’t manage to take him alive to help clear my name. Moony wants me to take him alive but I would rather slaughter Peter and laugh while I dance in a pool of his blood. I’ll take him alive if I can though… and if I remember to try.” He winced at the end of the overly honest explanation of his plans, trying to salvage what he could.

“I don’t think I’m as crazy as I sound right now,” he promised optimistically. “I will try really hard to be a good guardian, like James would have wanted. It’s just that a decade of torture in Azkaban didn’t leave a lot of room for happy thoughts. The Dementors ate those up. I’m getting better, though.”

“I think we can give him the antidote now,” Harry said uncomfortably. “I believe him.”

The others gave their agreement, and Lupin untied them all, though he kept his wand trained warily in Harry and Hermione’s direction when passing them their own wands back.

“I won’t try anything,” promised Harry. “I swear on the Potter family honour I won’t attack either of you today unless one of you attacks me first.”

Hermione looked at him. “If he won’t, I won’t. But I want to see those Pensieve memories you mentioned.”

Lupin gave Black a few drops of the antidote, and Black looked at Harry intently. Harry looked away, embarrassed. The two adults knew about the Dursleys, and he wished they didn’t. It was kind of weird that Black wanted to adopt him. He also did seem kind of crazy, even if there were good reasons for that.

“This is the Pensieve, if you need more proof,” Lupin offered, gesturing to the stone birdbath. “It’s an enchanted object that can replay memories for observers to share. There’s a few in there about Pettigrew.”

Hermione chattered brightly about the Arithmantic calculations and runic engravings that she’d read went into making one, and inspected it curiously. Sirius Black put his wand to his temple and with a muttered incantation drew out a long shimmering silver strand of thought, to add to the stone bowl. “That’s one of Peter turning into Wormtail.”

That first memory the kids viewed together was of Pettigrew, looking like a spotty teenager, turning into a rat who looked suspiciously similar to Scabbers (though not quite as plump). With their faces still submerged in the basin, a second memory started to play immediately after the first, and this one held Harry enthralled as he saw his parents – alive and looking so _young_ – talking with Sirius about how they were worried Lupin or someone else in the Order was spying on them, and might relay their choice of Secret Keeper to You-Know-Who. They all agreed that Peter would be a better choice. A plan to be kept totally secret, just in case, while Sirius would play the role of obvious bait to flush out the traitor and draw fire. The third memory was Ron’s, and showed him being given Scabbers by Percy, now that he had a lovely screech owl, Hermes, as a reward from their parents for becoming prefect. The fourth and final memory was the worst (and clearest), and showed the battle between Black and Pettigrew in the street, with Peter throwing baseless accusations before triggering an explosion and scurrying away in rat form.

They all emerged from the basin with a gasp.

“I can’t believe it,” muttered Weasley.

“I believe it, but I don’t want to,” sighed Harry, shaking his head. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Those poor people,” said Hermione, looking kind of pale herself. “Why were you laughing? It didn’t seem at _all_ funny.”

“Wordless Cheering Charm, just before the explosion,” explained Black. “It was always one of Peter’s best spells. And if you do it strongly enough, your target is too busy laughing to say any incantations. It let him cast his spell and get away scot-free.”

“Look”, said Lupin, “we could talk this over all day, but if we’ve convinced the children then we need to move ahead with your plan to clear you name somehow, and let the kids go back to Hogwarts before they’re missed. It’s going to be dark soon.”

“About that…” said Harry guiltily, fishing in his pocket for his watch and checking the time - it was later than he’d thought. Either he’d been unconscious longer than he realised, or a lot of time had passed while looking at memories in the Pensieve. “Half past five, Hermione. We don’t have long now.”

“You see we didn’t _know_ you were innocent,” Hermione apologised. “So we left a message. The Aurors will have already arrived and will be searching the school. And in just under half an hour before people will realise Harry and I are missing, when Professors McGonagall and Snape get their messages.”

Black looked very taken aback. “But I told you not to tell anyone! In the letter!”

“But that’s just not sensible,” objected Hermione calmly. “You never listen to terrorists. Of course we’d get help if we could.”

“Why at six o’clock?” Black asked her curiously, his eyes sane and focused for a moment. “That’s hours after you arrived.”

“That’s not important right now,” she said shiftily.

“I think you’d better run for it,” warned Harry. “The twins gave the Aurors something to help track down Ron, and I know Professor Snape will be out for your blood.”

“Snivellus,” Black said with a sneer, to Harry’s mystification (having never heard that word before). “But I have to stay. I have to explain things, Moony. So I can save Harry.”

“What?” said Hermione.

“He’s fine,” said Weasley in an affectedly slow voice. “He’s right there.”

Harry made eye contact with Black and gave a minute shake of his head.

“I can explain things to them _for_ you,” said Lupin. “That’s what you lured me to your hideout for, after all! Let me be your patron and explain it, and I’ll contact you with a Patronus or an owl message to Padfoot when it’s safe to surrender.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this,” Black said sadly, face crumpling and starting to look a bit lost again.

“Isn’t that how it always was?” Lupin grinned back, his hand on Black’s shoulder squeezing it in comfort. “So now I’ll talk us out of the consequences, like always. Leave it to me. Go on, get out of here.”

“I… alright. I will try. But I don’t know how fast I can run. I’m feeling pretty sore, and I’m still too dizzy to Apparate.”

“Sorry,” Harry apologised guiltily. “When I stabbed you I thought you were trying to kidnap me. I’m sorry about your wound too, Professor. And Storm thought he was helping.”

“That’s alright, Harry,” Sirius said, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder gingerly, moving slowly and carefully like Harry was a nervous animal he didn’t want to spook. “I’ll heal. Eventually.”

“You can borrow my broom,” Harry offered. “It’s a Nimbus 2000. I left it near the Shrieking Shack.”

“The cloak!” gasped Hermione. “Did we lose it?”

“Oh, James’ invisibility cloak? I picked it up,” said Lupin, handing it to Harry.

“Give it to Black, he can use it to get away,” Harry offered bravely. “I’ll want it back, though. And don’t tell anyone I gave it to him, alright?” Harry looked around, and Lupin and Hermione nodded in agreement, but Weasley was less impressed with his plan.

“Not your broom _and_ your cloak!” objected Weasley. “He might be innocent but he’s still _nuts_! They’re worth a fortune and you might never get them back!”

“Hey!” the nutty man in question objected. “Not cool, man, I’m no thief. I won’t swear on the family honour because that’s worthless in my case, but I swear I’ll return them when I can.”

Harry yelled, “Weasley, don’t you get it? He’s my godfather and he spent a _decade_ in Azkaban. Innocent! Thrown in there by Dumbledore and everyone just listened to him! People have been thinking he’s evil but he’s _not_! That’s my worst nightmare, and he’s lived it! So yes, I will help him as much as I can!”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Yeah, give him the cloak, then.”

Black took it from Harry’s shaking hands. “Thank you. It’s getting cold in here,” he said with a shiver, wrapping it tightly around his body so only his head could be seen. “So cold,” he muttered.

“It is a bit nippy, I guess,” agreed Harry. “It’s almost sunset after all.”

“I can’t let them take any more. They’re coming, and I don’t want to see. Don’t make me see it all again! I won’t!” Black muttered crazily, head jerking around as he looked around the rough cave walls wildly, before gazing out the entrance with a whimper. The others all looked in that direction too, with Lupin darting to the opening with wand drawn.

“Dementors!” he gasped in warning. “Closing in fast! Run, Padfoot!”

“They won’t see me,” muttered Black, and before their eyes he changed shape, and a scruffy black dog’s head was poking out of the cloak, instead of a man’s. He curled up into a ball on the floor, with only his head and paws poking out of the cloak, looking very odd with the rest of his body invisible. Harry thought the scruffy black mutt with matted fur looked familiar – and suddenly realised why Black already knew somehow about how the Dursleys treated him. It was the dog he’d told his troubles to when he’d had to leave home!

“Padfoot! No!” said Lupin, pulling the cloak off him, and giving the dog a shake. It whimpered sadly.

“Merlin’s beard! He’s an Animagus too!” said Weasley incredulously.

“Snap out of it, you silly mutt! You’ve got to turn back to being a wizard and get out of here! There’s no time for you to go into shellshock!

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” Lupin cast. As his silvery wolf stood guard at the cave mouth, under Lupin’s continued encouragement Black snapped out of his fugue and transformed back into a man.

He looked a lot saner now, although his hands were shaking. “Alright, I’m going. You must guard Harry from them.”

“I will, now go!”

“They’re closing in!” Harry warned, watching as Dementors closed in on their location, drifting towards the cave like malevolent living patches of darkness, all drawing together into a hunting swarm. “You can’t run for it anymore, you’ll have to Apparate.”

“I can’t,” he whined. “I’ll Splinch myself.”

“I know! Take this,” said Hermione, pulling out her enchanted hourglass on a chain from under her robe, and lifting the chain over her head. “It’s Professor McGonagall’s Time-Turner. Give it three spins, and you’ll be three hours in the past – more than that isn’t really safe, and you can’t double up time more than once. Make sure you don’t get seen by your past self – just get away to safety. Don’t try and contact anyone until after six o’clock.”

“Blimey! How did you get that?!” gasped Ron in amazement. “Did you nick it?”

“No, she lent it to me. No time to explain now,” Hermione said abruptly, giving Black some very quick instructions in how to spin the tiny hourglass to activate it.

Armed with Harry’s cloak clutched in his hand, and Hermione’s Time-Turner around his neck, and protected from falling into despair by Lupin’s Patronus, Sirius felt safe to wave a jaunty goodbye to the Dementors outside before giving the hourglass a spin and disappearing from sight.

“And he’s gone,” sighed Lupin. “That’s a start. Let’s hope these Dementors have handlers watching them properly this time, and that they won’t go for us.”

“You had a Time-Turner?” said Ron to Hermione, still amazed. “But I thought they were only legal for Obliviators and Unspeakables! How did Professor McGonagall have one? And why would she give it to you?”

But there was not time to discuss it, as the eerie creatures in their tattered black robes continued to converge on their location.

“Later, Ron!” she said crossly.

“Perhaps some more Patroni? Just in case?” Harry said nervously, scooping Storm up and draping him around his neck before drawing his wand.

“By all means. And then we’ll start walking back to the castle. No doubt those Aurors you mentioned will be here soon will be anxious to hear some explanations. And now I understand how you could predict their arrival.”

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” the students all incanted in ragged unison.

Harry’s silvery Hippocampus was like a shining statue – it looked so real you thought you could almost touch it, much like Lupin’s wolf. The upper half of Harry’s Hippocampus looked like a regal silver horse with a long fin for a mane, little fins on its face, and two hoofed feet, while the lower half was a scaly fish’s tail. Harry thought it looked very much like a horse-mermaid!

“I got a blob!” said Hermione happily, as for the first time her mist congealed into a silvery cloud that _almost_ looked like it was thinking about taking on a form. It was a small indistinct shape on the floor.

“Focus on directing magic to it. Offer it appreciation and your happiness,” suggested Harry, earning himself a quick sideways glance from his Professor.

Hermione stared at her pet cloud of mist intently as she focused, and it formed the first buds of legs. “I have legs! It’s a creature with legs! Thank you, Patronus!” she squealed happily, and it brightened a little more.

“I just got a burst of mist and it’s already gone,” sighed Weasley.

“Save your strength for if they attack then, Weasley,” suggested Lupin.

They shuffled out of the cave and into the gloomy forest in an awkwardly bunched little group, as the Dementors moved in towards them like hounds that had caught the scent of a fox. Their shadowy menacing forms swirled in a circle around the them, held at bay by the growling wolf with its hackles up, and the angrily rearing Hippocampus that lashed out with its hooves at any dark spirit that dared venture too close – they didn’t seem to want to come anywhere _near_ Harry’s Patronus. Hermione’s little blob darted towards them, then back again to wind around her ankles.

“I don’t think I can hold the charm for long,” she said uncertainly, watching it flicker.

“Go!” yelled Lupin commandingly. “We are not your lawful prey!”

Harry tried not to think of the possibility they’d been authorised to attack Professor Lupin too, and kept his wand pointed and focused on his Hippocampus, striving to focus on his happiest dreams of the future.

“ _Can I help, Commander?_ ” hissed Storm, watching the circling creatures warily. “ _I don’t like those creaturess_.”

“ _Yess!_ ” replied Harry with excited hope, brightening his Patronus with the upsurge in happiness. “ _Go to Madam Puddifoot’ss in Hogsmeade – the shop with all the pink that sssmellss like rosess. Find Professor McGonagall or Sssnape, or sssome Aurorss, and lead them to uss! Hurry!_ ”

Storm slithered down Harry’s body to the ground, and burrowed into it with magical ease like the hard earth was made of nothing more than soft sand. There was a ripple under the earth as he moved with incredible speed away from them towards the wizarding village.

“What’s he doing?” worried Hermione distractedly, and her Patronus blinked away into nothingness.

Ron tried to fill the breach with his best attempt at the spell, and got a decent (if brief) burst of mist that drove back an encroaching Dementor that was lunging for Professor Lupin with scaly grey hands outstretched.

“He’s fetching help from Hogsmeade!”

“I don’t know why they’re attacking – they should obey the Hogwarts teachers! Leave! I order you!” Lupin cried.

“I think it’s-” started Hermione.

“-Shh! Let him focus on his happy memories. We need that Patronus!” Harry whispered urgently, before raising his voice to talk to his teacher. “Professor, let’s have our Patroni charge, and move more towards Hogsmeade! Rescue should be on the way soon!”

The Hippocampus and wolf charged the Dementors in front of them, driving them back, and the group made a quick run for it before the other spirits had time to close in. They pelted across the uneven ground, trying desperately not to stumble, with Harry’s Hippocampus in the lead, and Lupin’s wolf Patronus darting back to the rear to stall the pursuers. They made good time for a few minutes before Harry’s Patronus flickered out and was gone. Harry’s heart pounded frantically like a caged creature, in his panic. He recast the spell successfully, but more weakly. The damage was done and the Dementors circled around to trap them again.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” shouted Ron determinedly, but got only wisps of mist again despite his best efforts. He cursed angrily. “I just can’t get it! I never practised!”

“Then send up showers of sparks! So people can find us!” Hermione suggested.

“Right!” Red and gold sparks lit up the sky above them in a glorious spray of bright fireworks, and they could hear voices yelling off in the distance.

A pointed ripple of earth in front of them on the ground like the waves at the bow of a tiny speedboat alerted Harry that Storm was back a moment before he popped his head out of the ground.

“ _I found Clever-men! I did a dance until they paid attention, and now they are following me!_ ” he reported excitedly.

Only a few moments behind him, Professor Snape crashed through some bushes, and instantly cast the Patronus Charm to help drive away the Dementors with a beautiful silvery doe.

“Potter! Children! Get over behind me!”

Harry ran for it obediently, and Ron and Hermione weren’t far behind him. Lupin moved forward too, before a warning flick of Snape’s wand stopped him in his tracks. “Not _you_ , Lupin. You belong to _them_ , now,” he said with a malicious smile, as his Patronus trotted back towards him, standing guard between the children and the Dementors. The shadowy creatures were showing little interest in any of them now they weren’t standing next to Professor Lupin. His wolf Patronus worked frantically to protect him, but it was fading fast and Lupin’s teeth were chattering badly as he tried to stammer an incoherent explanation.

“No!” cried Harry. “He didn’t kidnap Ron, it’s a long story but he needs a chance to explain! I’m sure what he did to you was horrible, but you have to help him talk to the Aurors, not let him be Kissed! It’s important!”

Hermione tugged at Snape’s right sleeve persistently until he looked down at her with a snarl at her jogging of his wand arm. “He deserves a trial. _You_ got a trial. Sometimes things aren’t what they seem,” she insisted. “He’s innocent.”

“Yeah! You have to arrest him!” said Ron, supportive if not particularly eloquent.

Snape wore a pained look, and sighed. “I order you to escort this… _man_ back to the village of Hogsmeade!” he said. “Do not feast upon his soul… yet.”

“Thank you, Severus,” said Lupin with a great look of relief as the Dementors backed away from him.

“Don’t thank _me_.”

Lupin turned to Harry and his friends. “Thank you, children,” he said softly.

Some brown-robed Aurors arrived soon after that, accompanied by Professor McGonagall, and Professor Lupin seemed almost grateful to be arrested and led away from the Dementors.

Harry dodged nervously away from Professor McGonagall’s sudden attempt at a hug that he’d only half-seen in the shadowy twilight, and his Patronus lunged at her threateningly, before Harry remembered to calm down and let her near.

“Harry! I’m not going to hurt you!” she said worriedly, freezing in place. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Nerves.”

“He is merely on edge from the stress,” Professor Snape told her smoothly. He walked around Harry slowly, blocking his view of her. “Deep breaths, Potter,” he advised quietly. “Relax. Quiet your mind and focus your magic. Bring up your calm blue sky image.”

Harry dismissed his Patronus with a respectful nod and thankful thoughts towards it, and took some calming breaths, focusing on his amateur Occlumency to get his emotions back under control.

“I thought a few times they were going to get me. That the Dementors would get us all,” he admitted softly, while his official Head of House fussed over Ron and Hermione.

“They didn’t. You live to fight another day – you endure. That is what matters, not what could have been.”

“Sirius Black is innocent. He told us – explained it all. Peter Pettigrew faked his death.”

“That’s an interesting tale,” Snape said, without a flicker of emotion on his face. “You sound like you believed him.”

“Not for no reason! He was drugged with Veritaserum. I got to question him. And we all saw some memories in your Pensieve.”

“Less trusting than I feared, then. I am glad of that. Did you say _my_ Pensieve?”

“He nicked it, apparently.”

Snape smiled thinly. “How delightful.”

“Don’t…” warned Harry.

“It is _not your place_ to dictate my actions, Potter. Yet I can assure you I shall press only charges that are richly deserved.”

Harry stalked away from him crossly towards his friends. He didn’t understand. Right now helping Sirius Black get his freedom was more important than focusing on an ancient grudge against Lupin, no matter how justified it might be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iron_Dragon_Maiden – Thanks for your comment a few chapters back that reminded me to flag for readers who missed it who Kyle the kitten was from, and why Sirius sent him.  
> FireRuby – The advantage of falling behind in reading chapters is you get a lovely binge read to catch up! :)


	24. It's Who You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News about the children’s escapades with Lupin and Black spreads. Harry finds a creative way to yell at Dumbledore, which isn’t the wisest course of action but he finds it very satisfying. Hermione surprises and impresses some people.

**_February 1994_ **

There was a chaotic din of noise in the Headmaster’s office as everyone tried to speak over the top of each other. The children kept interrupting one another as they told Black’s tale for him to the Aurors. Mrs. Weasley was insisting to Headmaster Dumbledore that Madam Pomfrey be called to check on her son, occasionally taking breaks to curse the absent scoundrel Sirius Black for kidnapping her baby boy, and to upbraid Dumbledore for letting a child of hers be kidnapped _again._ Mr. Weasley was trying to soothe his wife, and was also demanding Ron explain more about how Scabbers was allegedly an Animagus all along.

Meanwhile, the two Aurors present were each talking to different people and trying to make coherent notes despite constant interruptions (including occasional snide observations from Professor Snape). And Professor McGonagall was becoming increasingly strident as the children neared the end of their story and Hermione explained how to top off all the day’s unsanctioned and irresponsible usage of her professor’s Time-Turner, she’d finished up by lending the device to Sirius Black.

“Miss Granger, how could you be so foolish!” she cried, aghast.

“That’s a very serious confession of wrongdoing,” said Auror Scrimgeour gravely. “Their possession is heavily restricted, and she should not even have had one at all in the first place to give to a wanted criminal!” He’d introduced himself earlier as the head of the Auror Office, and he managed to look very serious and stern despite the thick mane of grey-streaked tawny hair that Harry didn’t really associate with his mental image of an Auror – a Muggle policeman would never have bushy hair down to his shoulders, and certainly wouldn’t have yellow-tinted eyes. Harry suspected some kind of permanent Transfiguration had been used to improve his eyesight.

“Look it’s not as bad as it seems, because he’s innocent, and he promised to return it. The important thing right now is securing the evidence,” insisted Hermione. “You _do_ have someone going to the cave to collect the memories in the Pensieve, don’t you?”

“Sirius Black needs a trial! It’s very important! He never _got_ one in the first place, you see!” Harry said loudly, over the top of Professor McGonagall explaining to Auror Scrimgeour that it was a family heirloom and her ownership of it was thus _quite_ legal and whom to lend it to was entirely at her own discretion.

Eventually the Headmaster resorted to a spell that let out a loud crack of thunderous noise, and called for order. Auror Shacklebolt was dispatched by his boss to ensure the contents of the cave outside Hogsmeade were seized as evidence, and to check the Shrieking Shack for clues as well (Harry asked him to pick up his broomstick which he’d left outside the Shack). Ron and his parents were sent to the Hospital Wing, and Auror Scrimgeour went with them, insisting on talking to all the children one at a time, starting with young Mr. Weasley as that was where the day’s story began. Hermione wavered like she wanted to go with them, but eventually her face firmed with a look of resolution and she stuck with Harry, insisting she was fine and didn’t need a check-up.

Harry scowled. He wanted to yell at Dumbledore for never giving his godfather a trial. But he didn’t want to get in trouble. He knew better than to make a scene with Professors McGonagall and Snape watching – he’d be scrubbing cauldrons for months. A sly smirk crossed his face as he hit upon a solution, making deliberate eye contact with his Headmaster when asked by him to tell again (now things were quieter) his version of what really happened.

“It’s a complicated story of secrets and betrayal, and I’m not exactly sure what I should say…” he started.

 _You’re an evil man for being so corrupt and sending my godfather to prison for ten years without a trial_ , he thought as crisply and cleanly as he could, as Professor Dumbledore’s twinkly-eyed gaze focused on him. He tried hard to keep the rest of his mind clear of thoughts, and thought he was doing pretty well.

“Harry!” cried Dumbledore, aghast at what his mind overheard with his brush of casual Legilimency.

 _I hope they strip you of all your positions because you don’t **deserve** to be the Head of the Wizengamot_. _I should’ve been living with Black all this time, but instead you threw an innocent man in Azkaban! I will never, ever like you, you horrible, nasty old wizard. You’re the rot at the core of wizarding society that my Aunt warned me about._

“Yes, Professor?” Harry asked, with a tone of respectful courtesy. He was trying to look calm and innocent, but a little smirk was sneaking out again despite his best efforts. At least his voice sounded polite. Professor Snape watched them both with curious, narrowed eyes.

Harry continued his tale out loud in a carefully polite tone of voice. “The short version of the story is basically that Pettigrew was the Secret Keeper all along, not Black. Black wanted vengeance on Pettigrew for betraying my family, and went after him. Pettigrew killed those people in the street and framed Black for it, and snuck off in his rat Animagus form. So my godfather got instantly sent to prison – unquestioned – _an innocent man_. He broke out of prison when he saw a photo of Scabbers – Pettigrew – in _The Daily Prophet_.”

Afterwards, he thought very determinedly about what he wanted to _really_ say to the old man who was _still_ gazing at him intently, albeit with an expression closer to grief than his former twinkling curiosity. _I’ve told you before, you should call me Potter, not Harry. We’re not friends, and never will be. And reading your students’ minds is rude and wrong, and if it’s not illegal it **should** be, and I really think you and Professor Snape should never do it again._

Dumbledore was the one to break their staring match and look away first, looking very upset. “Potter, I beg you to forgive a foolish old man. I understand that you’re angry that Sirius was sent to prison without a trial-”

“-It’s true, then?!” cried Professor McGonagall, looking very upset. “The children were right?”

“Yes. You see the problem was that Sirius’ grandfather Arcturus Black was throwing gold at Wizengamot members, and even his estranged mother was beginning to crow about what a fine boy she’d raised, and how you shouldn’t imprison a pure-blood heir on circumstantial evidence. They were strongly suspected to be supporters of Lord Voldemort, and it looked like his family was going to buy his way to freedom, thrilled at him finally revealing his true colours in support of their Lord,” Dumbledore explained, looking somehow more aged than usual with his customary cheery smile replaced by a very worn and tired look.

“Were I was still alive I would call a feud upon your and your House, Dumbledore,” said a sneering voice. Harry and some of the others spun around to see Phineas Nigellus Black’s portrait glaring angrily at the Headmaster. “For shame, sir, to abuse your position as Head of the Wizengamot so, to the detriment of my House.”

“Too many were escaping justice! A man’s guilt or innocence should not be determined by the size of his family’s vault!” Dumbledore rumbled angrily. “Too many Death Eaters were walking free! It was for the Greater Good!”

“I’ve read enough history books to know who else used that phrase,” Hermione murmured quietly, and Harry nodded in agreement. Grindelwald.

“Potter, don’t you see I did it for _you_?” he pleaded to Harry. “Your parents were murdered, and it looked like their certain betrayer was going to walk free, to the glorious triumph of his Dark family.”

“I resent that slur on my family, sir,” harrumphed the old Black portrait, before being shushed by other portraits to stay out of the living’s conversations unless invited.

Professor McGonagall sighed. “We all thought he was guilty. I as much as anyone.”

Harry glanced at Professor Snape, who nodded. “I too. I suspect him yet. This could still all be some cunning web of lies designed to deceive you to some mysterious end. He is a notorious liar.”

“Well I think he’s innocent,” said Harry stubbornly. “And you know, even if he’s not, he still deserves a trial. A _good_ man would ensure that happened, and that it was a fair one.”

“Oh Potter, I don’t know what the truth about Black is,” said Professor McGonagall sympathetically, “but you can trust that Professor Dumbledore is a good man. He was only trying to ensure that a murderer didn’t escape justice.”

Harry folded his arms and said nothing.

Dumbledore let out a deep sigh. “I imagine you are hoping to live a life of luxury with Sirius Black as your guardian, if he is freed?”

“Not necessarily. If it’s safe for me to return to the Dursleys – which I imagine it will be if they’re not scared Black will try and kill us all – then I think I’d rather just go home. Black seems… rather… not so well. Mentally.” It sounded a lot nicer than saying the man seemed nuttier than a fruit cake. It wasn’t his fault, after all – he couldn’t help it. The Dursleys might not always be kind to him, but they were mostly predictable. So they were the safer choice. And if that didn’t work, there was a little house-elf at Potter Cottage who’d be overjoyed to see him sneak away to live there for the holidays.

“I don’t think being in Azkaban with Dementors tormenting him did him any favours, to be honest,” he continued. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve to be free. All the _more_ reason, really.”

“Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said gravely, “I am truly sorry for my dreadful mistake with your godfather, and I promise I will do everything in my power to find out the truth, and ensure that Sirius gets the trial he was sadly deprived of. Should he prove innocent I will exert myself to the utmost to see he lives free, with his name clear.”

“Oh. Uh, thank you, sir,” said Harry, rather surprised. He guessed time would tell if that was mere empty words or not. “I would like that. Quite a lot, actually.”

Dumbledore smiled at him, and Harry tentatively returned his smile with a tiny genuine one of his own. Maybe he wasn’t _so_ bad, if he was willing to own up to his mistakes and try to fix them.

-000-

Hermione and Harry each had a turn being interrogated by the Aurors, as did Neville, who was _thrilled_ to see the two of them safe and well (barring a few bruises and scrapes). The Aurors were going to talk to them in a classroom for privacy’s sake, but Harry insisted on going to the Hospital Wing like Ron did, first.

“We both got knocked unconscious, and I think I’ve got a bit of an injury to my wrist that needs tending, actually,” he said.

“I have a few scrapes from hitting the floor,” said Hermione.

So they each got a trip to see Madam Pomfrey first for a dose of noxious potions each, and Harry narrowly avoided being hugged by Mrs. Weasley thanks to ducking behind Hermione, who got hugged in his place. He couldn’t escape her effusive thanks for looking out for the welfare of one of her children _again_ , however, until he pleaded a necessity to talk with the Aurors. As a gesture of thankful appreciation Mr. Weasley cheerfully shook his and Hermione’s hands forcefully and rapidly “in the Muggle fashion I’m sure you’re more familiar with” and promised he wouldn’t forget his or Hermione’s bravery.

Harry made getting his injured wrist healed by Madam Pomfrey a higher priority after that.

Being interrogated by Auror Scrimgeour was almost a relief in comparison. Harry stuck to the facts, except that he left out the bit about lending Black his invisibility cloak, and was vague about which spell he’d first tried to cast on Black in the Shrieking Shack. The Deboning Spell might be legal, but he didn’t really want to admit to having tried to basically kill the man he was now insisting was actually innocent. It was really embarrassing. He really wished he’d tried to cast the Stunning Charm instead. Still, all was well that ended well, and he was glad he hadn’t won that duel.

When it was Hermione’s turn to go in, he patted her on the shoulder gingerly and leaned in to say, “I think you did the right thing giving Black the Time-Turner. He had _no other way_ to hide or get away from the Dementors, after all.” Ron had spontaneously whispered a reassurance to Harry that he hadn’t told the Auror about Harry’s cloak, so Hermione was the last person to check in with. Hopefully Professor Lupin would remember on his own that he wasn’t supposed to say anything about it. Harry was still a bit worried that the Aurors weren’t calling off their manhunt.

She blinked at him, and tilted her head quizzically, but eventually gave him a brief wink of understanding. “I think so too. And I’m sure Professor McGonagall will realise eventually that it was the right thing to do. As will the Aurors.”

After she’d had her interview, Harry hung around and asked to speak to Auror Scrimgeour a second time. “I forgot to tell him something,” he explained to Hermione. “Remember? I was going to talk about Quirrell when the Aurors showed up!”

“Oh yes! Good idea, Harry!”

But Auror Scrimgeour didn’t seem very encouraging or particularly interested in what he had to say about a link between the deceased Lord Voldemort and Professor Quirrell, given how vague Harry was about the reasons for his suspicions.

 “Are you willing to provide some hard evidence for your suspicion that the late You-Know-Who’s spirit might be possessing Mr. Quirinus Quirrell, Mr. Potter? Testimony under Veritaserum, perhaps? Or memories in a Pensieve?” the stern Auror asked.

“I’d… rather not,” Harry said uncomfortably, thinking of how he’d look like a liar at best, and a collaborator with the Dark Lord at worst. “I’m just a kid. But you know, Dumbledore thinks Quirrell is connected with some attempt to revive ahh… You-Know-Who’s spirit too. You could ask him about it. Or Professor Snape.”

“We _have_ ,” said Auror Scrimgeour with a rebuking frown. “Right after the Minister received your letter he raised the matter quietly with Madam Bones, and I and Auror Dawlish investigated it, even though your claim, quite frankly, seemed rather ridiculous. Professor Dumbledore was heavy on suspicions and enigmatic statements but light on details, and Professor Snape said he saw no reason to assume the man was anything but a greedy and opportunistic thief.”

“Oh,” said Harry, disappointedly.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Potter. Our finest Aurors are still searching for him. He ran off with the Philosopher’s Stone, after all! Not to mention having attacked you in the process. You needn’t embroider matters to garner extra support for tracking him down. My team is still working hard on locating and apprehending him, I assure you.”

Harry thought about it, and thanked him politely and let the matter drop. Even if they didn’t believe him, they would still search for him. It didn’t _really_ matter if they believed him about this or not, the end result would be the same. But if he wanted them to believe him, he’d need to give them better evidence than his rather shifty say-so. Luckily, he knew just where to find some – he just needed a safe opportunity to retrieve it. There was still the problem of the Dementors in the forest, of course. He hoped the Ministry would withdraw them soon.

-000-

There was a riotous party in the Gryffindor dorm late into the night that Harry escaped as soon as he could, after perfunctorily telling his part of the story and stressing Sirius Black’s innocence, to a rather sceptical reception. His translation of Storm’s boastful tale about hitting Sirius Black with a lightning bolt was much more straightforwardly admired. While _he_ was ready for bed after a very long day (longer than it seemed thanks to a few extra hours with the Time-Turner), Storm wanted to stay and be feted and fussed over some more. So after some deliberation Storm pronounced Dean Thomas his favourite of the Gryffindors, who was graciously granted permission to hold him and supervise the fetching of delicacies to eat.

“How will I know if he’s getting cross, or ready to go to sleep in his tank?” Thomas asked guardedly.

“He’ll rear up and hiss if he’s cross about something, and curl up tightly in a ball if he’s ready to sleep,” Harry replied, after consulting with his pet to arrange some signals.

The next morning, the school was all abuzz with gossip, and many students stopped by the crowded Gryffindor table to collect their rumours straight from the horse’s mouth, under the indulgently watchful eye of Professor McGonagall (Professor Dumbledore was absent from the teachers’ table that morning). All of the Weasley children, including the stutteringly shy Ginny Weasley, stopped by to thank Harry and Hermione for going on a rescue mission for their missing brother, and there was a lot of solemn hand shaking. The Weasley twins offered "pranking immunity" in thanks, which Percy said was a rare gift they should definitely accept, so they did.

Ron was also very polite in his gratitude. “I have no idea how I can possibly pay you both back for being so brave and trying to help me, but if I can, I will. You’ve been a better friend to me than I have to you, and I’m sorry about that. I won’t forget it, I promise.”

Harry nodded his thanks as Pansy had drilled him, then shrugged his shoulders shyly. “It was no problem.”

Hermione gave Ron a spontaneous hug, which seemed to please him.

The arrival of the morning’s _Daily Prophet_ for subscribers brought a new excited wave of gossip.

“ _BLACK FIGHTS POTTER AND ESCAPES AGAIN!  
DUMBLEDORE CLAIMS BLACK IS INNOCENT OF ALL CRIMES!_ ”

Hermione shared her copy of the paper with Harry, and they pored over the article together.

“They don’t sound terribly convinced by Dumbledore’s statements,” she said, skimming through the news more quickly than he did. “This Skeeter woman is practically claiming he’s senile.”

“She’s still written in most of the details though,” said Harry. “Including the story about Pettigrew, and that Dumbledore is calling for a trial. So that’s good.”

“Look!” gasped Hermione, pointing to a second article below the fold. “‘ _Werewolf Teacher Arrested for Attacking Children!_ ’ Oh no! Professor Lupin’s been sent to Azkaban pending a trial!”

Harry skimmed it quickly to find the charges. “Accessory to the kidnapping of a minor, assisting an escaped felon, conspiracy - although they don’t say conspiracy for what, breaking and entering, larceny, three charges of unsanctioned duelling of a minor, being an unregistered werewolf, various offences of the Statute of Secrecy, and endangerment of the public. Wow, they really threw the book at him!”

“They’re calling for him to be in prison for life, or to be ‘put down’ like a rabid beast!” Hermione yelled, very upset. There was a riotous clamour at the table after that. Some yelled their defence of the “best Defence teacher we’ve ever had”, while others cried out in support for the “dangerous werewolf” to be put down, and a few argued more quietly in defence of his innocence or at least the right to a trial. Harry got caught up in the middle of it, for along with Ron and Hermione he was one of the children named as being allegedly attacked, so people wanted to hear more about that. The _Prophet_ must surely have access to the Auror’s interrogation records, or a source in that Department, to have so many details so fast.

Harry had to concede to some students’ questioning that yes, he _had_ been attacked. “Alright, he did attack us, it’s true, but you know I _was_ trying to stab him with a large silver needle when he hurt me! So it was self-defence – technically I started it. Of course I didn’t know at the time he didn’t mean to harm anyone – Ron was unconscious in a corner and Black was raving and ignoring Professor Lupin. And Lupin looked unharmed, so naturally I assumed the worst.”

“He got me with a Stupefy,” said Ron, “when I was fighting against Black. I thought Professor Lupin was waiting for a chance and would leap in and help me! But I reckon he didn’t want to _hurt_ me, you know? He knows loads of other spells that I bet he could have used if he’d wanted to do that.”

Professor McGonagall shooed the noisier students to sit down in their own seats, making sure Harry and his friends were left alone for a while to eat breakfast, which earned her a grateful look from Harry. Harry distractedly munched on some toast and jam while poring over the newspaper some more. Hermione pulled out the inner pages of her paper to read ahead while Harry read through the main articles in detail.

“There’s a woman in the Ministry named Dolores Umbridge who’s pushing forward some new legislation to restrict werewolves from any positions where they might come in contact with children, the aged, Squibs, or injured people, ‘lest the presence of those their instincts scream are prey awaken their base natures.’ She can’t be serious! That’s not supported by any of the literature,” she said angrily. “The paper says there’s a new groundswell of support for the legislation. How can that be so? It’s not even been a day yet!”

“Scary stuff!” said Harry.

“Werewolves have always been restricted, there is a Werewolf Registry they are supposed to join if they don’t want to be hunted. It’s amazing he got to come to Hogwarts, really,” said Neville. “I think the bill or whatever it is has a good chance of getting through.”

“Outrageous!” said Hermione crossly. “And I think they closed that Registry anyway – I read in _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_ that hardly anyone registered themselves. So I don’t see how that charge is even legal.”

“There’s not a lot of support for Black’s innocence,” said Harry with worried distraction, “but at least there’s a couple of people in the ‘Witches and Wizards Write’ column agreeing with the call for a trial.”

Their classes were a mess that day, as everyone was more interested in talking with each other than paying attention to their lessons. Hermione had bigger problems with classes than gossiping classmates, however.

“I have no way to get to all my classes now,” she moaned unhappily to Harry and Neville, as they strolled through the corridors, heading early to their first class to escape the crowd at Harry’s insistence. “Black hasn’t sent the Time-Turner back yet, and Professor McGonagall didn’t sound particularly keen to let me keep it in the future in any case. What am I going to do?”

“Oh no!” groaned Harry sympathetically. “This is going to be tough now.” He would miss it too. A _lot_.

“You could quit Divination?” suggested Neville. “You haven’t been very enamoured with it right from the start.”

She sighed in resignation. “I suppose.”

“You might need to drop a second one?” suggested Harry. “What other subject aren’t you keen on? How about Care of Magical Creatures? I’d miss you there, of course.”

“No, I actually like Care. Now that I can read up on the creatures in advance, and I know what I’m doing. Muggle Studies could go, I guess,” she said dispiritedly.

“You could try sitting the OWL for it in fifth year even without taking the class,” suggested Harry. “How easy has it been?”

“Pretty easy, I guess.”

“Have you been learning anything new that you didn’t already know?” asked Neville.

“Hmm. Not a lot. Mostly that the textbook is woefully out of date, and aimed at covering the immense gulf of cultural knowledge that pure-bloods have in regards to Muggle society and technology. Which has actually been very interesting. I’ve had some wonderful insights into wizarding society and its technological level, when comparisons are drawn!

“Did you know, Harry, that the eldest child inherits the family estate regardless of gender? And that lesbian marriages are legal and approved of, while gay marriages are legal but only tolerated – men being together is seen more as a phase you experiment with before marriage. The pure-bloods were quite shocked that same sex marriages aren’t legal in Muggle society as they have been in wizarding society for well over a millennium. Apparently Queen Victoria tried to have them outlawed here too, but the Wizengamot refused to budge on that. The students here were outraged that some people in Muggle society would be verbally and physically attacked on the basis of whom they loved. Oh! And racism surprised them, which is ironic given their attitudes to werewolves, Muggle-borns, goblins, blood purity, and so on. They don’t see the parallels easily.”

Harry thought about it. Uncle Vernon didn’t approve of “nancy boys” and certainly wouldn’t support gay marriage. Which made Harry inclined to philosophically approve of it. “Why is there a difference between the attitudes towards men and women?”

“They didn’t go into a lot of detail about it,” apologised Hermione. “Neville?”

“Ah… it’s because of… you know… children,” he stammered, blushing. “Women can use Polyjuice Potion, and have Heirs for their families. That won’t work for men – they can only adopt. Some families are perfectly happy with that, but others aren’t. Adoption is an older tradition, and not as popular as it used to be.”

“That makes a certain sort of sense, I guess. I don’t like it, but it explains the attitudes.” Hermione sighed again. “I guess I’ll drop Muggle Studies. Well, I’d better run if I want to catch Professor McGonagall and talk about my timetable before class starts. No Muggle Studies this morning after all – I’ll have to go straight to Transfiguration but at least it’ll be handy for catching her!”

“See you there!” the boys said, waving her goodbye as she ran ahead.

After Transfiguration was Charms, where they practiced variants of the Wand-Lighting Charm (Lumos), including Lumos Maxima (which produced a powerful but brief flash of light), Lumos Solem (the Sunlight Charm) and Lumos Duo (which produced a steady focused beam when correctly cast). Harry basked in Professor Flitwick’s approval as shown by his insistence that he spend some extra time working on mastering the spell variations.

“Perhaps you could pair up with Miss Granger, and see if you can overpower the other’s spells with Nox. It will be a challenge, as the counter-spell is most effective only on your _own_ Lumos charms,” he said with enthusiasm in his squeaky voice. They both agreed eagerly with the suggestion, while those in the class less academically inclined tried not to draw attention to themselves lest they also be given extra homework.

Hermione let them know that the changes to her timetable had been approved. “I’ll be in Ancient Runes with you and the Ravenclaws now, Harry!” she whispered happily. “So that’s something good that’s come out of this. And I had to switch Arithmancy to the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff class, of course, as that subject used to overlap sometimes with classes for Care of Magical Creatures and that’s just not workable any longer.”

Defence Against the Dark Arts was the last subject before lunch, and no-one really expected to see Professor Lupin preside over the class given the news in the paper, but there hadn’t been any announcement about a replacement.

“Who’s going to take the class?”

“Maybe Harry could do it?”

Neville shook his head. “Not for the whole year. I think an Auror would be a good choice.”

“I think Professor Flitwick would be a good choice for a temporary replacement,” suggested Harry, “since he used to be a duelling champion. Or maybe Professor Snape. But I imagine they’d both be too busy to do it long term.”

Finnegan piped up with his own thoughts, “I think it’s likely to be Professor Snape. He’s filled in before when Lupin’s been… sick...” Finnegan trailed off slowly, then smacked his forehead with his hand. “The full moon! Of course. It seems so obvious now.”

Snape swept into the room in a billow of dark robes, silencing the speculation for the time being. He settled down at the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, wearing a pleased expression.

“As your regular teacher is _unavoidably detained_ elsewhere,” he started smugly, to scowls from a few fans of Professor Lupin, “I will be teaching the Third and Seventh Year classes whilst a replacement is decided upon, which should be shortly. Alternative teachers are filling in for the other years.”

Hermione thrust her hand up firmly in the air and waited to be called on.

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

“Might Professor Lupin be back soon? What’s the earliest we could expect him to return?”

“Presuming he is somehow found innocent of all charges or suffers no fate worse than a fine? His trial is unlikely to be less than a month away, so not before April, I would imagine.”

There were murmurs of concern about their teacher and their own studies, but Professor Snape quickly called for order and no-one wished to cross him. Even if he _was_ in what for him passed as a good mood.

-000-

In the afternoon on their way to the library, Harry started to detour, as was his habit, to the boys’ bathroom on the Fourth Floor and the secret entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

“I’ll just be a minute… No. Darn it. I’d just be a _few hours_ ,” he finished dejectedly.

“What?” asked Neville.

“Oh, no Time-Turner,” whispered Hermione understandingly.

“Yeah. What am I going to do?” he moaned. “I mean, I knew it – no more you know what. But now I really _get_ it. This is going to be tough. I can stop going to the Junior Potter Watch meetings. That’ll save me an hour a week.” He slumped unhappily, leaning his back against a wall dejectedly. A couple of passing students eyed him with concern, but kept on walking, saying nothing

“Less potion brewing?” suggested Neville.

Harry sighed. “Yeah.” It wouldn’t save him a lot of time – he wasn’t doing much of that lately. It would be an easy thing to cut, but it was barely a start. “I’ve got a supply of Wideye Potion. I know it’s not a long-term option, but perhaps just for a little while it would help,” he mused aloud.

“Oh Harry, I don’t know, but I don’t think that’s wise,” Hermione fretted.

“I’ll ask Madam Pomfrey what the safe limit is,” he pronounced decidedly.

All their Slytherin friends were waiting expectantly in the library, even Millicent and Crabbe, and Harry sighed again. From the looks of their eager faces and the immediate way they put all their books down when the Gryffindors hove into view they were hungry for gossip. It looked like he wasn’t going to get _any_ study done today.

Daphne led the charge, and with occasional help from Pansy wheedled more details out of Harry about their adventures than anyone else had managed so far except for the Auror who’d questioned him.

They were tentatively willing to consider Black’s possible innocence, and in the end they all agreed to support the call for a trial for Black, with Draco’s argument in its favour tipping the balance.

“We simply cannot have pure-blood Heirs thrown in Azkaban without a trial!” he insisted. “And if the ‘great’ Mumble-more admits that he used his influence to ensure that Black didn’t get one, it must be true. It sets a shocking precedent. I’m going to write to father about it.”

“Do you think he’d be willing to publicly support Black’s case?” asked Harry.

“Well… perhaps not publicly,” said Draco hesitantly. “It might look bad – for both of them. But if he can quietly convince some members of the Wizengamot to side with Mumble-more about getting Black a trial, who’d normally oppose anything he put forward on principle, then the push is bound to succeed!”

“That would be great, Draco! I’d really appreciate it.”

Pansy meanwhile had become oddly fixated on another part of the story, that Harry and Hermione had thought was rather inconsequential, given everything else that had happened that day.

“So Granger, you mentioned that you went along with Harry not in spite of the presumed danger, but _because_ of it?”

“Yes, you see, I knew he was likely to be in trouble sooner or later. Along with him being a friend, I owe him a life debt, after all, and this seemed like a good opportunity to pay him back! He needed my help. Well, as it turns out I guess he didn’t, but obviously we didn’t know that at the time.”

Pansy exchanged a look with Daphne, and leaned in intently as she asked the next question. “So, let me be sure I have this completely straight. In the Shrieking Shack, when Harry was a prisoner, you rushed in on his shouted command all on your own to attack a presumed mass murdering wizard, to try and save his life in repayment of your life debt?”

Hermione looked rather pleased at the impressed note in Pansy’s voice. “It was rather brave, wasn’t it? Terrifying at the time, of course. And I wasn’t precisely on my own - Storm was attacking too, mind you. But yes, that’s pretty much what happened.”

They sat there all looking rather stunned for a moment. It was Greg who broke the silence first, starting a slow clap. The other Slytherins all joined in, and Neville and Harry did as well after a moment.

“It was really awesome,” said Harry happily. “I’m not sure I’ve really thanked you properly. So, thank you so much, Hermione. You were great.”

Her cheeks tinted pink with embarrassment as she smiled. “It was nothing you wouldn’t do for me.”

“Marvellous, simply marvellous,” gushed Pansy. “And Harry, I assume you’re going to count this as forgiveness of her debt?”

“Technically I didn’t actually save his life,” nitpicked Hermione. “It wasn’t in danger.”

“But you _thought_ it was,” rumbled Greg.

"If you risk life and limb to protect your patron, especially at their specific request or order, that counts as fulfilling your debt,” explained Draco. “Otherwise you’d almost never get to repay your debt. Or they might ask you to risk your life over and over for them and that wouldn’t be fair. There’s other ways to repay the debt, but risking your life for them is the most prestigious, apart from actually saving their life in return, of course.”

“You should acknowledge it formally,” insisted Greg.

“Uh, what do I say?”

Pansy talked him through it, and he held Hermione’s hand as he repeated after Pansy, “Thou hast served me well, Hermione Granger of the House of Granger, and I forgive thee thy life debt.”

People generally looked pleased, but Greg frowned. “It’s not a real House,” he mumbled to the other Slytherins.

“Dagworth-Granger is a real House,” said Daphne quietly. “Common, but well-known thanks to Hector. She might be related.”

“But we don’t _know_ she is.”

Pansy looked thoughtful at that, and glanced over at Harry who was laughingly trying to wiggle free of another of Hermione’s surprise hugs. “I shall find out,” she whispered. “Father hired a researcher recently to draw up a family tree. I will see if I have enough savings to hire him a second time.”

“I can help,” said Greg. “I have a little pocket money saved up.”

Daphne smirked at him, and he looked away from her knowing gaze embarrassedly. “It would just be good to know, that’s all. Since we have to associate all the time.”

“I agree. If she isn’t really-” started Crabbe, before being nudged into silence by Draco as the Gryffindors started paying attention to them all again.

“Granger,” said Pansy, holding out her hand to shake, “I’d be pleased if you would call me Pansy in future.”

Hermione’s mouth hung open for a second out of sheer shock, then she snapped it shut and shook her hand with a smile. “Alright… Pansy. And you can call me Hermione if you like.”

The other three girls chimed in to likewise officially move to a first name basis with her, much to Harry’s quiet delight, and to Neville’s surprise. Crabbe elected to remain on a last name basis for now, but was superficially polite enough about it. Draco looked uncertain, despite Pansy and Harry’s encouraging eyes.

“I… don’t think I should. I’ll have to ask father first,” he demurred, and Greg and Crabbe nodded their approval at that. “But for what it is worth, any friend of Harry’s is a friend of mine.” She offered her hand to shake, and he took it and turned it over to plant a polite peck on the back of her hand, which she tolerated (to Harry’s unspoken relief).

“If I’d known I’d win you all over by trying to save Harry’s life I wish I’d managed it earlier!” she said with a laugh. “There was that thing in first year where he almost fell off his broomstick? It’s a pity you didn’t count that.”

Pansy and Draco exchanged a look. “That isn’t _exactly_ the reason,” Pansy said to her, with her head tilted slightly to one side consideringly. “It’s not precisely what you _did_ that’s the issue.”

“It’s not?”

“No. It’s _why_. It’s that you are showing immense respect for our traditions. To the point of risking your life for them,” she clarified. “You acted out of respect for your vow. Out of a stated desire to fulfil your life debt you risked your own life to help your allied patron.”

“And it also helps that you are planning to stay in wizarding society, of course. You are… integrating,” Draco said.

“But I’ve been trying to do that for ages!” she objected.

Pansy sighed and wrinkled up her little nose, and dramatically put a hand to her forehead like she was in pain. “Can’t you just say ‘thank you’ instead of arguing and analysing everything to death? Must you ruin the moment?”

“Well… thank you. I appreciate the official welcome,” Hermione said, a little stiffly. Then, struck by a thought, pushed her chair back and stood up. She did a brief bow to Pansy, and smiled.

Pansy grinned back delightedly, and nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“You did it wrong, Hermione,” said Greg grumpily.

Draco rolled his eyes.

Pansy sighed. “And another moment ruined.”

Crabbe nudged him. “Draco’s not happy. Let it go, it doesn’t matter,” he said in an attempt at whispering that was easily overheard at the crowded table.

“It does matter!” Greg insisted stubbornly. “If she’s going to stay, she needs to learn the rules of polite society. Like Harry and Tracey have been.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I didn’t do it quite right. But it’s the thought that really counts, right?!” Hermione said brightly, not seeming offended.

“I agree,” said Harry, and Neville nodded.

“Just let it go, she’s not your problem,” said Crabbe to Greg with a shrug, ignoring their interjections.

“Yes it is. I’m one of her potential patrons,” Greg said stubbornly. “And I talk with her almost every week and she doesn’t act _right_ and it gets so confusing sometimes.”

“What?” said Hermione, “Is this because I don’t know all the old pure-blood etiquette rules? But surely you have that problem with _all_ Muggle-born students you interact with? And the teachers too.”

He looked at her blankly, and blinked.

Crabbe let out a deep-throated chuckle, and Pansy and Daphne exchanged a smile and a sidelong glance.

Greg just stared at Hermione and waited patiently for the penny to drop. “Oh,” she said slowly. “You don’t mix with any other Muggle-borns. And I’m sure there must be a Muggle-born teacher here… but maybe there’s not, now I think about it. You only talk with me, and Harry, sort of, since he’s Muggle-raised.”

“He’s a nigh-pure half-blood,” corrected Greg fussily. “Both his parents were magical, and he has three pure-blood grandparents. Squibs might not be something for a family to boast of, but they can still be called pure-blood. So he is a suitable marriage prospect for even a pure-blood heir as all his children would be pure-blood.”

“Remember, Harry and I have been having lessons for a couple of years now from Pansy, and Daphne, and Draco, and other people about how to act. So we’re further ahead than you are,” said Tracey.

“So what was wrong with my bow?” she asked. “Should I have curtseyed?”

Greg hesitated. “I’m not so good with the rules about curtseying. But generally they are for when a lady is trying to be especially charming to a gentleman. Bowing is acceptable for witches too. But you did the wrong bow.”

“Really? I copied the one I see people do to Harry all the time. And Pansy nodded back, just the same way Harry does.”

“Interesting…” said Pansy, with a sly smile at Harry.

He looked embarrassed. “People bow sometimes in the halls. When teachers aren’t around.”

“That’s fine for people to do to Harry,” Greg said with a shake of his head. “You bowed to greet a social superior, not to express thanks to a social peer. Now I could be wrong but it seemed like you would rather have said thank you? You bowed too deeply for that.”

“There’s a difference in bows?” Hermione said, flabbergasted. “I never really noticed.”

“It is very difficult to tell them apart sometimes,” Greg agreed. “My father has notes. With moving pictures. Draco’s grandfather Abraxas Malfoy wrote them up for him, and charmed them. There’s a lot of little differences, and if you learn all the rules of etiquette, everything becomes easier.”

“Can you give me another example of when it makes a difference?” Hermione said

“Umm. Draco, would you mind terribly providing me with some assistance?” Greg asked.

“Not at all,” he said graciously.

“Could you please nod approvingly? Like you want to show you agree with something someone just said.”

“Really? Alright then.” Draco gave a short nod.

“And now, please give a respectful nod. Like someone has impressed you and you want to show deference to their skill.”

Draco nodded again. “It’s just a nod, though, Greg. It’s the same thing.”

But Greg shook his head. “No they’re not. Hermione, did you notice his first nod was straight up and down, and kind of fast? But the second nod was slower, with a slight tilt of his head?”

“Huh,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “Yes, I see that, now you mention it.”

Draco nodded a couple more times, trying to notice a difference himself. “Hmm, I guess there is a difference. I’ve never really thought about it. It’s just what you do.”

“Well I had to learn it. And since you haven’t grown up with it, I think you need to learn it too, Hermione,” said Greg.

“Isn’t it all rather complicated? A lot of it sounds unnecessary,” Hermione asked sceptically.

Greg shrugged. “I suppose it would be tough at first. But once you know the rules of how you are supposed to interact with people, it’s easier. You don’t have to guess how someone is feeling towards you, or worry about who is supposed to introduce whom, or what topics it is alright to talk about at dinner. Because you know.”

“I see,” she said thoughtfully. “I think it’s very interesting your family has notes! I wish I could see them. Actually, you know what? I think _all_ Muggle-born students should have a chance to see something like that. A guide to wizarding culture! Because even if you’re not going to do all of it, it’s still not good to be ignorant of the world you’re entering.”

Hermione went into a huddle with Greg and Tracey as she got excited about her nascent plans to write her very own “ _Introduction to Wizarding Culture_ ” booklet, and they got drawn in by her enthusiasm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to OpalHonors and Mackiechandler for the inspiration for Hermione and Greg collaborating on her learning more wizarding etiquette, and writing a booklet about it.
> 
> Thanks to Iron_Dragon_Maiden for the inspiration to discuss wizarding reactions to Muggle prejudices.
> 
> Thanks to "Guest" for picking at proper usage of "who" and "whom". I do try, but the rules for this never stick in my head. Reviewers are always welcome to correct me on stuff like this.


	25. Changes Afoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Staffing changes delight some and dismay others, and there’s some more very interesting news in the Daily Prophet.

**_March 1994_ **

A few days into the next week, Dumbledore had an announcement to make at breakfast. He had often been absent from the school lately, and from the constant stream of articles in the _Daily Prophet_ , was clearly getting mixed up in a lot of politics as he talked with people and got the wheels of bureaucracy starting to turn for a trial for Black. So far, it was clear he’d been talking a lot with the Minister about rescinding the Dementor’s Kiss order for Black, and the paper was increasingly full of people’s stridently stated opinions in favour of a trial, which Harry thought was an excellent start. More ordinary news of things like burglaries, a missing person, and an infestation of Jarveys plaguing the Suffolk wizarding community (and a few Muggles who had to be Obliviated) were all pushed right to the back of the paper to make room for more sensational news.

Dressed in rather resplendent long purple velvet robes edged with too much gold lace, Dumbledore stood and waited for the crowd of chattering students to hush.

“Good morning students! I have a few short announcements to make regarding some staffing changes. Firstly, as you are all no doubt aware by now, regrettably your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher Professor Lupin is still incarcerated pending his trial. I am confident he will be found innocent of the charges laid against him, however, the process will not be as swift as we might all hope for.”

There was a muttering of discontent and arguing about that statement, before quiet fell again.

“I shall be unavoidably busy in my position as Head of the Wizengamot over the next month or so, as I oversee the start of trials for both your erstwhile Professor Lupin, and also Mr. Sirius Black. Regardless of your opinion on the matter of his guilt, I think we can all join with Mr. Potter in upholding the ideal that every wizard or witch accused of a crime should be entitled to a fair trial.”

Harry sunk low in his seat as people turned to look at him. He appreciated the sentiment, but wished the Headmaster hadn’t called him out by name. People were staring.

“While I am absent, Professor McGonagall as my deputy will be acting as Headmistress, but will continue to teach Transfiguration. Filling in for her own role as Head of Gryffindor House will be Madam Hooch. Gryffindor students are invited to call upon Madam Hooch if you have any concerns you need addressed during this busy time.”

The Flying instructor gave a cheery wave. Students at the Gryffindor table murmured their general approval, and she stood and bowed at the polite round of applause.

“I would wager that’s the new defence teacher,” Neville whispered to Harry, pointing discreetly at the rather rotund, bald man sitting at the teacher’s table. He had an enormous silvery moustache, and was wearing an embroidered lilac vest with silver buttons, and a plain black robe was open over the top of it. “They can’t keep having other teachers filling in for Defence for too long. It simply won’t work long term.”

“Do you think he’ll attack you too?” asked Hermione.

“Surely he wouldn’t want to break the chain,” said Harry with a slightly nervous smile.

“We shall be ready for him,” Neville promised determinedly.

The newest teacher stood at Professor Dumbledore’s gesture. “It is my pleasure to welcome our newest member of staff, Professor Slughorn, who has kindly agreed to resume his former post of Potions Master at Hogwarts.”

“Wow! Fantastic!” said Neville with delight, joining in excitedly as people clapped for Slughorn.

“But what about Professor Snape?” said Harry, glancing at the staff table and seeing him still sitting there. The Slytherins were also looking curiously over at their Head of House.

“Professor Snape, however, will not be leaving us. Please welcome him in his new role as your temporary Defence Against the Dark Arts professor!”

There was enthusiastic applause from the Slytherin table and many excited faces, and a smattering of clapping from the other Houses – Harry was one of the politest Gryffindors in applauding for their teacher’s new appointment, and he could see by the barely hidden look of triumph on Snape’s face that he was very happy with the change in position. Neville had lowered his head to the table with a soft thunk, and Ron was complaining loudly at their missed chance to be rid of him for good, and consoling himself with the hope that the curse might get him.

“Do you think he needs to worry about the curse?” Harry asked Hermione.

“Well, he’s just filling in temporarily,” she mused thoughtfully. “Professor Trelawney said no-one stays longer than a year, but if Snape is planning to go back to teaching Potions later this year, or at worst for the start of next year, perhaps he’s confident that no supernatural force will need to drive him from the role? It’s a very odd kind of curse, isn’t it? Still, there are Ancient Egyptian curses that have lingered for thousands of years, so it’s certainly plausible.”

Neville wasn’t saying anything, but from despondent way his head still rested on the table it was clear he was closer in attitude to latching onto Ron’s optimistic hopes of doom for Snape than Harry’s polite acceptance of the new state of affairs.

“I thought you liked Professor Snape now, Neville?” Harry asked.

Neville raised his head slightly to look at him as he replied. “Well, I like him more than I did the last couple of years. But… no. Not a lot. He still scares me how he stands too close when I’m brewing. I drop stuff sometimes. And he takes too many points from Gryffindor – even if he doesn’t take them from _you_ very often I am sure you have noticed that the rest of us aren’t so lucky. Professor Lupin was much nicer, don’t you think? He was our best Defence teacher yet. I’ve been doing so well in that subject. Until now. Now I’ll probably fail.”

“Professor Lupin was alright, I guess,” said Harry with a shrug. “I do hope he gets a trial quickly. He deserves that. Professor Dumbledore likes him, so I’m sure that will work in his favour.”

Hermione scowled. “I like the idea of Professor Lupin being let off, because he’s innocent – or mostly so – as a lot of this seems to be trumped up charges based in racial prejudice against werewolves. But I hate the idea that it might happen because of judicial bias. There’s too much corruption in the wizarding government, I think. Things should be fairer than that.”

Harry shrugged at that. “I don’t like it either. I hate it. But we don’t have to like the world, we just have to know how to survive in it.”

“That sounds very Slytherin. Don’t you want to fight to make things better?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being in Slytherin. And sometimes the best way to win is for no-one to notice you’re fighting.” But while Hermione would’ve liked him to explain that statement more, Harry demurred and focused on eating the rest of his breakfast. Hermione wouldn’t understand, and for her sake, he was glad of that. She’d never had to struggle quite like he had, in her idyllic family.

-000-

Professor Snape still looked excessively pleased with himself, standing at the front of their DADA classroom that afternoon. He must have done some swift redecorating of the classroom, for the creatures in cages had been removed, and the walls were now covered in pictures of people who appeared to be in horrible pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts. Neville shuddered as he took his seat, and Harry sat next to him as he often did. It looked like his best friend would probably need some extra support today.

After a rather loving introduction to the topic of the “ever-changing and eternal” Dark Arts, Snape got down to specifics.

“Today we will be discussing vampires, thus quickly concluding the uninspired syllabus focusing on so-called ‘Dark’ creatures, so we can conclude the year covering more interesting and relevant topics such as simple jinxes, curses, and counter-curses suitable for this class’ rather unimpressive level of puissance. In this morning’s lesson I shall also cover the legislation surrounding vampires including the _Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans_. Those of you from less… _educated_ backgrounds may assume that vampires may or _should_ be killed on sight, yet this is specifically banned by the Ministry, in case a wizard or witch’s own judgement and common sense should be deficient.”

Professor Snape’s lecture was enlightening, if peppered with the usual scattering of insults. Vampires were classed as part-human, and like many other recognised Beings, they were barred from using wands.

“Any pathetic fool who is unfortunate enough to fall prey to the vampiric curse will lose their status as a wizard or witch, and be reclassified by the Ministry as a Peregrini class Being, alongside hags, werewolves in human form, Veela, and goblins.”

He then graciously allowed a couple of students to ask questions. He _was_ in a good mood. “What about the centaurs?” asked Finnegan. “They’re smart, and part-human.”

“Merpeople and centaurs were both offered Being status but rejected it in favour of retaining their classification as ‘Beasts’. They refused to be classified as Peregrini class citizens – they did not want to be subject to the laws governing our people, nor ruled by our government. Their lands – or watercourses – are thus not able to be acknowledged by treaty as their sovereign territories, but in most cases are recognised as sacrosanct areas for the conservation of magical creatures, and not subject to settlement or seizure.”

“How about sphinxes? They’re intelligent Beings surely, they can carry out complex discussions and ask riddles,” Hermione said, after impatiently waiting for her waving hand to be acknowledged.

“Along with Acromantulas and Manticores, they are classed as Beasts despite their intelligence, having too violent a nature to be judged fit to join wizarding society. Giants currently hold Being status, but it is a matter of ongoing contention. However dull their minds, they _are_ able to comprehend the concept of an alliance or treaty, and thus have been negotiated with in the past, according them Being status. In between wars, that is. They are extinct in Britain now, with only one or two tribes remaining in mainland Europe. So it is rather a moot point for the Ministry at the moment.”

Hermione raised her hand again and waited for the nod before asking her question. “Sir, I was wondering if there are any other Beings like house-elves that have Servi status?”

“The nixie, also known as water-elves, though they are extinct or nearly so. The goat-legged fenodyree, or field-elves, found in the British Isles only on the Isle of Man. And nymphs of all kinds, which are still _relatively_ numerous across Europe, though only in comparison as they too are in decline, as the Muggle encroachment into former wizarding lands and previously untouched forests continues.”

“And why do they hold that status as Servi class?” Hermione asked. Her mouth was tight but her words were (with some effort) kept relatively polite.

“As a matter of practicality, and for their protection. For instance, should land with a river be sold, any resident naiads or nixies pass to the ownership of the new landholder, with all responsibilities for their protection and upkeep that may entail. And should a hamadryad’s tree be hewn by an interloper, the landholder may seek vengeance or compensation for the loss of his property.”

Hermione folded her arms and didn’t look happy about it. “They could be offered Peregrini status at least,” she muttered.

“Matters could be worse. For instance, Muggles held Servi status too, once upon a time,” concluded Snape with a thin smile at Hermione’s gasp of horror. He waited for the uproar, which took time to develop into full flood as it required the more informed students to update their friends as to the implications of his statement.

He took a handful of points off Gryffindors unwilling or unable to keep their mouths shut, before waving away the dissension by assuring everyone that Muggles held Being status now. “Muggles themselves bought and sold _each other_ as slaves. You can hardly be shocked to hear that wizarding society followed suit for a time, unless you’re mentally deficient.”

After the class, Hermione vented angrily for some time about the horrific historical classification of Muggles as a slave race, and built up a fine rage upon hearing from Ron that there used to be a push to make Muggle-hunting legal, from the Dark families. He was tagging along in earshot as they were all headed to the same class next, and got drawn into the conversation.

Eventually she wound down, distracted by another thought. “Did you know about the other types of elves? I didn’t find anything about that in my reading!”

“It was news to me,” said Ron.

Neville shrugged uncomfortably. “Well, obviously there’s other kinds. Otherwise we’d just talk about ‘elves’, not ‘house-elves’. But I though the other kinds were extinct.”

Harry said, “I’ve heard of water-elves, in reference to ‘water-elf disease’. It gives you pale or blackened nails, watery eyes, some kind of neck trouble that makes you want to look down all the time, and nasty sores. There’s a very interesting and complicated potion to cure it, with ale and sacred well water as the base, along with a dozen plants and herbs. And a long counter-curse or charm that you sing, with a refrain repeated three times!”

Hermione stared at him as he rambled enthusiastically. “You didn’t think I’d want to know about that?”

He shuffled his feet. “Sorry. It was just that the book was centuries old. So, much like Neville, I thought water-elves were extinct. It was just interesting.” He told her the title, so she could look it up herself, which mollified her.

-000-

With a new teacher at the helm, Potions was a revelation of cheerfulness. Professor Slughorn’s round beaming face and giant walrus moustache greeted them at the door as the Gryffindors filed into class, and he seemed particularly enthusiastic in his greetings for Harry and his friends.

“Mr. Potter, a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last. I expect superb work from you today, m’boy! Professor Snape warned me to expect nothing less.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry wondered exactly how illuminating that conversation between the two teachers had been.

“And this would be your friend Longbottom, yes? ‘Much improved’, he said.”

Neville beamed happily. “Thank you, sir!”

“And Miss Midgen? No? Miss Granger, then. A pleasure. Any relation to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?”

“I’m Muggle-born, but Parkinson – Pansy, that is – is helping me research my family tree further back to see if there’s any connection to the Dagworth-Grangers, or any other wizarding family. If there’s a connection it’s probably going to be a distant one, however.” Pansy gave Professor Slughorn a little wave at the mention.

“Well it’s still a pleasure to meet you whether you are related to them or not, my dear,” he said with a genial smile, which brought out a return toothy grin from her.

He shook a few more hands as the rest of his students entered. “Do have a look around while I’m greeting everyone – there’s a number of potions on display to intrigue and inspire! Look, but do _not_ touch! These are all NEWT level concoctions and I will be most interested to hear what you make of them.”

Harry and his friends sniffed and peered interestedly at the range of bubbling cauldrons on display. The gold cauldron full of shimmering mother-of-pearl potion with spirals of steam was definitely the most delightful to smell – Harry said he thought it simultaneously smelled like treacle tart, leaf mulch (which reminded him of Storm’s faint odour he picked up from his habitat), and musty old stonework.  (He didn’t say so out loud, but the stonework smell reminded him vaguely of his comfortable secure hideout in the Chamber of Secrets.) It was an odd but truly scrumptious combination of smells, and the scent felt like it alone could fill him up, like eating a good meal could.

Neville said, “It must have some leaves or perhaps even the flowers from the Flutterby bush in it, because I smell something totally different. Wow, if it needs the _flowers_ this must be a frightfully expensive potion to brew.” He tucked his hands behind his back and took a wary step back, as if worried he might knock the cauldron over. “The Flutterby bush only blooms once a century, and their blossoms are adaptive - they can smell like whatever you like the most.”

“What did you smell, Neville?” Harry asked curiously.

“I thought it smelled like the earth after rain, the spicy scent of Puffapods, and bubblegum.”

“Bubblegum? I’ve never noticed you chewing it? Do you like bubblegum?” said Harry, surprised. But Neville shook his head and didn’t want to explain that.

Hermione said, “I can smell freshly mown grass, new parchment, and mint toothpaste.”

“Grass?” asked Harry.

“Summers at home,” she explained. “Why do you smell old stone?”

“Hogwarts,” he said vaguely. “I like it here, I guess.”

Professor Slughorn called the class to order, and after a few quiz questions about the potions on display, during which Hermione restrained herself sufficiently to let others field a couple of questions by raising her hand a second _after_ someone else in the class had. Though she put her hand up very high and clear so it was obvious she _did_ know the answer, and was just being polite in not calling it out. Harry identified the cauldron of Veritaserum, Hermione talked knowledgeably at length about Polyjuice Potion and impressed the Professor greatly, and identified Amortentia too. Neville got a chance to talk about its properties, however, with a little encouraging prod from Harry to put his hand up. The last potion of molten gold in the tiny black cauldron was the most mysterious and unfamiliar to the three of them, and Draco was very smug and proud to identify it as “Liquid Luck” and win the first points for Slytherin for the day.

“Quite right, Malfoy! Felix Felicis! A curious little potion, that one,” said Slughorn. “Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. But oh, what a delight it is. Highly toxic in large quantities! But taken sparingly and used very occasionally, and you have the most perfect day.”

He held up a miniscule little vial, which was on offer as a prize for the most perfectly brewed potion. “Not to be used on examination days or during sporting events, of course!” he warned with a smile. “But just try it on an ordinary day, and see how it can make it into an _extraordinary_ one.”

“You shall need your wits about you for this little competition!” he said with a hearty chortle. “If you brew well, you will be making exactly what you least need – a Wit-Sharpening Potion! Now, it _is_ a fourth year potion, but that should give you a little bit of a challenge! Let us see how you fare. Individual efforts only!”

Students scrambled for the supply cupboard, with Hermione pushing her way to the front of the pack, grabbing ginger root, armadillo bile, and scarab beetles, and rushing back to her bench to start peeling the ginger root.

Harry hesitated nearer the back of the pack – there would still be plenty of supplies and another minute wouldn’t make a big difference. Should he try his best? The prize sounded amazing – liquid luck! There would be no flying under the radar with the new teacher if he brewed his best. But it sounded like Professor Snape had at least told him to expect and demand an Outstanding level of brewing. Harry decided he’d go for it. He really wanted that prize – it would be perfect to help him with homework. Or to sit his IGCSEs! No-one from the wizarding world needed to know. And he’d been working towards an O in class lately anyway – no-one would be too shocked if he did well.

At the end of a tiring session of brewing, the class waited with bated breath for the results. Professor Slughorn seemed to be considering Harry’s potion, Hermione’s, and Draco’s as the top picks. “Excellent brewing, I can see you three are the ones to watch in this class!”

Neville sighed, and shrugged with a smile at Harry. His potion had worked out well enough to please himself, at least. It _was_ a year above their level.

Slughorn scooped up some of Draco’s potion with a ladle to judge the consistency. “No surprises here from you, Malfoy! Excellent work. Your grandfather Abraxas had a good eye for potions ingredients, you know. Gave me some lovely Abraxan wing feathers as an early Christmas gift one year, when his mare was moulting.”

“And I’m sure you put them to good use, being a Master Potioneer,” Draco flattered.

“Indeed I did!” he said with a jolly laugh, wandering over to Harry’s bench next.

“Good work, Potter, outstanding potion,” he said, giving Harry’s own concoction a stir and a tiny taste test. “Perfect consistency. I expect to see you keep up this standard in class, now!”

“I will sir,” he replied respectfully, with a smile. The new professor seemed a gregarious type who gave the impression of wanting to make friends with everyone, so a smile seemed appropriate.

Harry’s potion was more an orange-yellow than Hermione’s, which Slughorn looked at next. Hers was more of a dark orange. Harry knew he’d done everything right – hers must have been brewed too quickly. She did get impatient sometimes. He mentally rehearsed what to say to comfort her when she lost, as their professor peered into her cauldron and took a tiny spoonful to try from her brew. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings – he just really wanted that prize.

“Superb, Miss Granger! The clear winner!”

_What?!_

“Thank you sir,” she said proudly. “I worked hard at it.”

“And it shows! Perfect colouration and consistency.” He handed over a tiny vial of liquid gold as her prize, which she tucked away carefully in her bag amongst her quills.

Hermione offered Harry soothing words of consolation which had sounded much better in his head when he was planning to say them to _her_.

“Your potion was fantastic too, Harry,” she said soothingly. “You’ve come _so far_ this year, and Snape was even giving you Outstanding marks like you deserved! It was still an Outstanding potion even if it wasn’t the best – and it _was_ a Fourth year potion, remember! I just had a good day – I beat Draco too, and you know he was top of the class last year!”

He’d given it everything he had, and he’d _lost_.

He lingered after the class to quickly quiz their teacher about where he’d gone wrong. “I followed the instructions to the letter, sir. And extra cleaning for my cauldron and knife – I know they were fine. Ginger root peeled perfectly, scarab beetles ground to a fine dust, no legs. What went wrong?”

“Nothing went _wrong_ , dear boy! You did some outstanding brewing today! And I don’t mind you taking a little sample or two for later in some vials – yes I _did_ see that you sly thing – it’s perfectly good to use, just like Malfoy’s was. If I had to guess I would say you didn’t add quite enough ginger root. Just another thirty grains or a dram more would have been perfect, I would hazard.”

“I added ginger until the potion turned the colour of limes – careful slivers off the end of the second piece until I got the right shade. The recipe doesn’t mention a precise weight?”

“Ah, that would probably be the problem, then! While you don’t weigh the peeled ginger root, due to the varying potency of the morning dew and the strength of the vinegar, you want to add the ginger until the potion turns _lime_ , not the colour _of_ limes. You want a rather precise light green shade with a tinge of yellow, not just any old shade of lime. Otherwise you won’t obtain the right shade of orange at the end – yours was more pumpkin orange than salamander orange. You can find a colour chart in _Potion Opuscule_.”

Harry sighed. “Oh, I remember that now. I haven’t reviewed that book since first year. I guess Hermione was better at memorising the colour chart than I was.”

“Well it was a rather ambitious book to be tackling in your first year!” Slughorn said, sounding impressed. “You should review it when you get a chance. Run along now, I have another class about to start. And keep an eye out for my owl! I will be sending out invitations to a little soirée shortly! I hope to see you there, young man. And don’t be so downhearted. A drive for perfection is what turns a good potions student into a Master, given time!”

-000-

Hermione glanced around the Gryffindor common room to make sure that she and Harry weren’t near anyone close enough to eavesdrop, before leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, “Have you gotten a letter lately from _you know_ …”

Harry flinched. She raised her eyebrows and waited expectantly.

“Your godfather?” Hermione finished after a pause, much to his relief.

“Oh! Him. Yes, I did, actually. A couple of days ago. Though it was quite brief – no real news. He didn’t send any _packages_ unfortunately, just a letter. Hang on, I’ll pop up to my dorm and get it to read to you.”

“If it’s not a bother,” she said politely.

“Not at all,” he responded, and fetched it promptly from the hidden compartment of his trunk. He offered it to her to read, but she declined.

“Maybe you could read it to me instead. In case it’s charmed to self-destruct,” she said. Harry smiled at her thoughtfulness. He _would_ hate to lose the letter, for it _was_ a very nice one, even if it was short. He read it out quietly to her.

“ _Dear Harry,_

_Sorry I haven’t returned your cloak yet, or your friend’s necklace (you know the one!) as I might still need them, with Aurors still after me and poor Remus arrested. But it looks like a trial might be in the offing, so here’s hoping the stars align in my favour soon! I shall send them back soon, I promise. Hopefully it should only be another week or two._

_Don’t forget I want you to come and live with me when I get my name cleared! It is what your parents would have wanted. I know you said no when we first talked about it, but maybe you will change your mind now you know I am innocent? I really would do my best to be a good guardian. I’m doing better all the time, away from all the Dementors. I’m not entirely sure what the goblins will have done with the family finances while I was in Azkaban, but I should have a couple of properties to choose from – you can help pick! There is an old family home I think you might like – it is rather old and mouldering but it’s in the middle of a Muggle area so that would be nice and familiar to you, and I could fix it up._

_Your snake could come too – he can have all the magical pests he can catch! I would wager the Dursleys aren’t keen on magical snakes in the house? I don’t know how you talked Petunia into that but I doff my hat at that accomplishment._

_Address return letters to “Padfoot”, as I’m charmed against a lot of name-based location spells, which will affect owls too._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Sirius Black”_

Hermione sighed. “Well, I can see why he’d want to hold onto the you-know-what a bit longer. I guess I did the right thing in dropping some classes,” she whispered.

“I _just_ got another letter you might be interested in too, hang on, I’ll just call Neville over,” said Harry. “Oh, and Ron too. This one’s not so private, and they should hear about it.”

Neville and Ron were promptly summoned away from a circle of students playing a game of Exploding Snap to join their private huddle.

“I was just up in the dorm a minute ago, and one of the waiting owls there this evening had a letter from Dumbledore!” said Harry. “I thought you might all like to see it.”

“ _Dear Mr. Potter,_

_You may be pleased to hear that having enlisted the full co-operation of Ms. Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, as well as the eventual agreement of Minister Fudge, I have finally managed to secure a date for a full trial of Mr. Sirius Black on Wednesday, the sixth of April. This date falls within the Easter holidays and will thus allow yourself, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger to attend as witnesses, should you desire to assist in the court case. I commend to you the task of persuading them to present themselves in court as it will make the case for his innocence on several charges a stronger one. Official Wizengamot notices requesting your presence shall arrive in due course; please respond promptly._

_Mr. Black shall be required to present himself for peaceful surrender into Ministry custody no later than two full days prior to the trial, or he risks the trial being cancelled altogether. From today onwards, Aurors are under instructions to use minimal force necessary to apprehend the elusive Mr. Black, and while alas the Dementors shall remain stationed at the school for the time being I have secured the Minister’s agreement to have them withdrawn as soon as Mr. Black is in custody. A great relief it shall be to us all, no doubt!_

_Your erstwhile Professor will also have his day in court soon. Mr. Lupin’s trial has been scheduled for Monday, the second of May. While regrettably this will fall within the school term, perhaps a leave of absence from classes could be arranged should you again wish to render assistance._

_I am, yours most sincerely,_

_Headmaster Albus Dumbledore_  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Head of the House of Dumbledore, Grand Sorc.,  
Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)”

Everyone was eager to hear the good news, and agreed that they’d all do what they could in court to help the two.

-000-

 _Tap tap_. Harry rapped on the mosaic’s frame to wake up its inhabitant. “Greetings Ambrosius! It’s been about three weeks since my last visit – it’s now late March.”

Ambrosius sat up on the klinai and stretched. “Goodness! So long? You were visiting almost every single day before. Was there a holiday I missed?”

“No, the Easter holidays are still coming though they’re not far off now – the first week of April. Sorry I haven’t been by in a while – I didn’t have time.”

Ambrosius frowned at him. “You did before. But I suppose you are tiring of visiting an old man who rambles too much.”

Harry waved his hands apologetically. “No, no! It’s not that at all. I like talking with you. The thing is, I had access to a Time-Turner. I was sharing it with my friend Hermione, but unfortunately it’s been lent to my godfather now, and even when he sends it back it looks like it’ll have to go back to the original owner.”

“A what?”

Harry explained about what a Time-Turner was and how it worked, and why he had one and how no-one was supposed to know about it (in case Professor McGonagall disapproved of him sharing it when she’d lent it only to Hermione). “So you see, that’s why I was able to visit for hours and hours, even though I have so much work to do. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I guess I thought you knew? I didn’t realise I hadn’t mentioned it. Didn’t you wonder how I could visit for so long?”

Ambrosius let out a deep sigh, looking tired. “My vanity got the better of me – not for the first time. I assumed you were awed and honoured to spend so much time in my company. I thought perhaps you were a very lonely young boy who was happy to spend his afternoons and evenings down here. Tom certainly was, for a time.

“A ‘Time-Turner’. My greatest magical accomplishment was a ritual that allowed me to travel back in time. Most mortals who knew of it regarded me with either awe or fear for being god-like in my power – that I could live backwards in time and speak of what was yet to come with the utmost precision. Those of us with such high levels of magical skill were in more ancient times worshipped outright, with temples dedicated to us and generations of followers ready to carry out our every whim. And now, such a power is incorporated into a device used by children. A plaything, to allow extra time for scholarly studies or socialising.”

He looked broodingly thoughtful as he spoke again, “I cannot decide whether to delight in how far our people have come, or whether to weep for what has been lost. It is a strange age you live in now.”

“I’m _really_ sorry I haven’t visited for a while,” Harry apologised again. “It’s not just not having the Time-Turner. Having to keep it secret that I can sneak down here into the Chamber is a problem too – I haven’t told _anyone_ that I’m doing that. And there’s all this stuff with my godfather going on too.”

“The madman who is trying to kill you? I remember.”

“No, you see it turns out he’s actually innocent!” Harry explained the tale in full, and Ambrosius relaxed the more they spoke. The poor man had clearly been lonely for company, or at least felt it now he was awake again. Harry found it was nice to have someone to confidentially unburden his woes to, as well.

“I have so little time these days. I guess I got used to the Time-Turner, and now everything’s so difficult. And I agreed with my tutor to do the exams for French, Latin, and Maths at the end of the school year!”

“You will do fine,” soothed Ambrosius. “Those are your best subjects.”

“I know,” Harry grumbled, “but I should have had _heaps_ of time to review.”

“You’re happy that your godfather got away safely, though. Isn’t that worth the risk of a slightly worse grade?”

Harry thought about it. “I guess. I just wish I knew how to squeeze more time out of the day. Madam Pomfrey said it was best to limit the use of Wideye Potion to no more than two to three times per week, and that extended use by children hadn’t been studied. So I’m only using that once or twice a week – when I’ve used more than that it _has_ left me feeling weirdly tired, but unable to sleep. And now Professor Slughorn wants me to spend some of my free time in a club of his! I got a formal invitation on parchment wrapped up with a violet ribbon to come and join his ‘Slug Club’, and I don’t know if I should or not.”

They chatted for a while, and after attending carefully to his description of the man, Ambrosius convinced him that it was a worthwhile investment of time. “Wizarding society runs on patronage and favours, and nothing you’ve ever told me has suggested that has changed significantly in the past couple of hundred years. Good grades are important, but connections are what will see you flourish or fall. Don’t think of it as a waste of your time – think of it as an investment in your future career. You should instead save your time by ceasing to assist your cousin with his studies so much. He is not learning anything except to be dependent on you.”

Harry looked a bit shifty as he admitted, “That’s kind of the idea. We had a deal, where he would help me with some problems at home, in exchange for study help.”

“Ah! Well then, if you need more time, but still need the obligation, perhaps you could offer him the _choice_ of which subjects to drop assistance for, and which few to keep. Then he should feel empowered in the shifting balance of the favour, because he retains the power of choice. However, he will still be indebted to you.”

That sounded like a good idea – he could do that. “Thanks for your advice, I really appreciate it. I’m sorry, but I have to go now. I’ll visit when I can, I promise. Mostly on weekends, now.”

“I look forward to it.”

-000-

Harry whistled cheerfully as he helped himself to some toast from the silver toast rack on the Gryffindor table, topping it with some butter and thickly sliced ham.

“Word of warning, Potter,” muttered Ron quietly.

“You can call me Harry again, if you like,” he replied cheerfully.

“Oh! Thanks Harry,” said Ron, perking up. “Friends again, then?”

“I think so. Not best friends, maybe, but friends, yeah?”

Ron nodded gratefully.

Harry took a bite of toast, and asked through a mouthful of food, “So what was this warning?”

“Oh, it’s Fred and George’s birthday today. They’re always flush with new prank items, and say it’s traditional to share the wealth, given it’s April Fools’ Day today. So don’t accept any snacks today.”

“Is it?” said Hermione, distractedly scanning the air above the tables.

Harry waved a hand dismissively. “They offered me pranking immunity for dashing off to save you, Ron. They were really worried about you, you know! I think I’ll be safe, unless they forget.”

“I’m safe too,” added Hermione, still glancing around the hall expectedly.

Ron snorted unhappily. “Typical. I’m their brother – I’m the one who was in danger! And _I_ don’t get prank immunity. Ginny’s not off the hook either.”

Harry smiled amusedly.

“You’re in a good mood this morning, Harry!” said Neville cheerfully, helping himself to some more scrambled eggs for his breakfast. “Enjoying the start of the Easter break, then?”

Harry shrugged. “Not with the amount of homework they’re piling on – it won’t be much of a break, though it’s nice to have some time off classes. No, I just woke up in a good mood this morning.”

“And I reap the benefits,” grinned Ron. “Did you hear? We’re a first name basis again, officially.”

“He’s called you that for a couple of weeks now, when talking about you,” said Neville.

“Finally!” muttered Hermione.

“I’ll say!” said Ron. “It’s taken forever, hasn’t it?”

“No!” she said exasperatedly with a shake of her head. “Not you. I mean the morning paper. Look! Here come the owls at last.” She pointed to where the small flock of incoming dull brown post owls swooped over the House tables towards the regular subscribers, among whom Hermione was counted. Thomas reflexively covered his breakfast protectively with his hands as they flew past.

As she unrolled the paper, Hermione let out a loud gasp at the news, which was echoed around the Great Hall as others opened up their own copies of the _Daily Prophet_ , and read the day’s shocking headline.

_“MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN_

_MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS ‘RALLYING POINT’ FOR OLD DEATH EATERS”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dramatic cliffhanger! :D *ducks for cover* C’mon, they’re fun! *ducks again*
> 
> I was re-reading bits of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince for this chapter, and Hermione in sixth year at nearly 17 yrs old is still thrusting her hand up in the air to answer every question like it’s a race with the rest of the class. She didn’t even let Professor Slughorn finish his second and third Potions questions before punching the air (yes that’s how JKR describes it), and answered the second one without even being called upon (Harry also knew the answer to that one). The slightly bewildered Professor Slughorn didn’t even try to ask anyone else the fourth question – she got that one asked just for her to answer. Malfoy got an I-sucked-on-a-lemon expression at her getting twenty points for Gryffindor, and frankly I can’t blame him. I honestly thought she’d grown out of it by that point, but there you go, in canon she was still a desperate question hog for years. I empathise. I’m a hand-waver too – it’s a hard habit to break! She’s getting toned down in my fic now because she has so many friends (or friendly acquaintances, at least) willing to confront and nag her about her behaviour.
> 
> I've fallen behind the past couple of weeks with responding to reviews - sorry about that! I will catch up as soon as I can.


	26. Alternative Facts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperate times call for desperate measures, as Harry tries to help Sirius clear his increasingly blackened name and get his day in court.

**_April 1994_ **

At the teachers’ table there were enough copies of the _Daily Prophet_ to go around. But at the House tables papers were scarcer, and clusters of students gathered around those with a copy of the newspaper. Hermione read extracts out to the third year Gryffindors who crowded around her.

“ _An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person ever to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black's cousin Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals and beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached._ ”

“Does it say exactly who escaped?” Neville asked, looking worried.

“Yes, there’s a list of eleven people from the high security ward, with pictures underneath,” said Hermione. “Antonin Dolohov, Bellatrix Lestrange, Augustus Rookwood, Lyndon Travers, Rabastan Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Vulcan Mulciber, and…” she trailed off and looked up, as she noticed Neville push his chair back roughly. “Are you alright?”

“No, not really. I’ll… be in the dorm.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Harry asked.

“No, y-you… you find out what’s going on. Stay here. Fill me in later on what I need to know. I just want to be on my own right now.”

“What’s wrong with Neville?” asked Ron. He wasn’t the only one clustered around Hermione who looked puzzled.

Once Neville had moved away, Harry explained the situation very briefly to those looking curious and confused. “His parents’ torturers just escaped from Azkaban. His parents were permanently incapacitated – they’re in St. Mungo’s.”

Hermione gasped distractedly, eyes back on the paper’s list of escapees. “Professor Lupin escaped too!”

There was a chorus of disbelieving murmurs.

“No!”

“Surely he wouldn’t – his trial’s not that far away!” objected Harry.

“Was our teacher a _Death Eater_ as well as a werewolf?” asked Finnegan, aghast.

Ron read out the description of Lupin, reading over Hermione’s shoulder.

“ _Remus Lupin:_ _Known werewolf and long-time associate of ringleader Sirius Black, awaiting trial for serious violent crimes against children and public safety._ ”

“They make it sound really bad!” Ron said, sounding aggrieved. “It wasn’t that bad. He was definitely going to be found innocent of that. Or at least most of it.”

“Looks like he’s definitely not coming back to teach _now_ ,” muttered Midgen.

“Oooo!” said Brown, her eyes widening in realisation. “Remember what day it is?”

“April Fools’ Day,” said Ron. “I think Fred and George put something in the porridge – no-one should touch it.”

“No!” she said impatiently. “It’s Good Friday! Parvati, do you remember what Professor Trelawney said at the start of the year? ‘Around Easter, one of our number will leave us for ever!’ ”

 “Yes! Merlin’s staff, she knew about this _all along_! She knew a teacher would leave for good at Easter!” exclaimed Patil. “See Hermione, she _wasn’t_ wrong just because you left early. It wasn’t about _you_ at all.”

“She knew it was a good generic guess that would fit a lot of potential events occurring within around say, a fortnight’s span of time,” said Hermione disparagingly. “And when she said it the implication was clear that she was referring to a member of our class.”

“It clearly didn’t mean that at _all_. Just because _you_ don’t have the Sight is no reason to scoff at those who do,” sniffed Brown.

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed at that. “I’m not even convinced there’s any such thing.”

“Does it say _why_ they think Black was behind it? Is there any actual evidence or is it just speculation?” Harry interrupted, trying to peek at the next page.

“ _Wild claims by Albus Dumbledore that the raid on Azkaban was not masterminded by Black, but instead was led by the long-dead martyr Peter Pettigrew, can be taken as conclusive evidence of this once-proud hero’s sad decline into senility_.”

“Well, at least the Headmaster is sticking up for him,” he said. “It doesn’t sound like they’re listening, though.”

“Look! A picture of the Dark Mark floating above Azkaban!” gasped Patil. “I can hardly believe it. Well no wonder they think Sirius Black led the attack. Death Eaters _had_ to be involved.”

“It might be their sign, but it doesn’t logically follow that the person who broke them out had to be a Death Eater, however. Any of the escapees could’ve done it,” argued Hermione. “And I stand by the Headmaster’s theory that it was Peter Pettigrew.”

“And is there any _evidence_ for that?” Patil asked snidely.

“Give me a chance to read!” Hermione snapped. “It _is_ my paper, you know!”

“Sirius is _innocent_ ,” insisted Harry stubbornly.

“No-one would want to live a decade as a _rat_ ,” Patil insisted, with a mocking roll of her dark brown eyes. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

“They’ve cancelled Black’s trial,” said Hermione, reading ahead and ignoring Patil. “They say they’re going to add extra charges, so they need time to gather evidence and witnesses. And there’s a lot of accusations thrown around about how if he was innocent he would’ve turned himself in by now. Apparently one of the wizards who works as a guard at Azkaban survived the attack by playing dead – there were two others who died – he said there were three men all wearing black robes, and two of them had Death Eater masks on and the third had his face permanently shadowed by some kind of spell. They could be anyone!”

“Death Eaters,” murmured Ron fearfully, not alone in his worry.

Harry leant back in his chair, shocked. He had a guess who two of the people might be. Pettigrew and Professor Quirrell. The third he didn’t have any guesses for, but really doubted it was Black. But… was Pettigrew really acting so decisively after spending a decade living peacefully (if strangely) as a rat? Harry had a dreadful sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he remembered how Scabbers had last been detected _heading towards the Forbidden Forest_. So, he had two top priorities. He had to save Black’s life, and he had to check on that diary as soon as possible.

“What’s happening with the Dementors? Did they fight the intruders at Azkaban? Are they removing them from Hogwarts?” Harry asked, interrupting Hermione’s reading again. She quickly skimmed in search of an answer, making a couple of students who were slower readers moan with frustration as she flipped pages heedlessly.

“They don’t say how, but apparently the Death Eaters got past the Dementors without any trouble. There weren’t many there anyway – mostly they’re here at the school after all. It’s one of the few criticisms of the Ministry the paper is willing to venture.”

“Fat lot of good they’re doing here,” muttered Thomas angrily. “Those things creep me out. Maybe not as much as they do Potter, but I still don’t like them. Remember how they charged us at Quidditch? We’d be better off without them here at all. Black’s gotten past them two or three times now at least! So what’s the point?”

“Does it say anything about the Hogwarts’ Dementors?” Harry asked persistently.

“Hold on, I’m checking,” she said distractedly. “No… nothing. The teachers might know. Harry, it’s not looking good for Sirius – the coverage is pretty solidly against him. There’s renewed calls for his death and to bring back the ‘Kiss on Sight’ order, and Dumbledore is… well they’re making fun of him a lot, Harry. This Rita Skeeter who’s writing the lead article really has it in for him. It’s not the first time I’ve seen her be nasty about him.”

“I wonder if Malfoy’s dad was dressed up with a mask on,” Ron mused, staring across at the Slytherin table where there were similar (though smaller and quieter) clumps of students buzzing about the morning’s news. Draco was one of the students with a copy of the _Prophet_ , and a cluster of friends were leaning in to whisper with him in serious low voices.

“Do you have any evidence for that?” Harry asked in a carefully neutral voice.

“Here we go again,” muttered Finnegan. “Bunch of ‘Claws you all are today.”

Ron bristled. “He _was_ a Death Eater, you know. Just because you’re friends with Malfoy-”

“-I just asked if you have any _evidence_ ,” snapped Harry. “And since Mr. Malfoy isn’t the _only_ former Death Eater not in custody, previously Imperiused or otherwise, there might actually be a _lot_ of suspects. No doubt the Aurors will be investigating.”

“Whatever. Let’s not fight about it, okay?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed stiffly.

“And you shouldn’t give Draco a hard time about it,” piped up Hermione, causing Ron to gape at her in shock. She stiffened defensively at his stare. “Malfoy, that is. I’m just saying, even if his father _is_ guilty, it’s not like he personally could possibly have had anything to do with it. Children aren’t responsible for their parents’ crimes.”

“I guess,” Ron said grudgingly. “But if he starts crowing about how his poor innocent aunt is free now, I’ll be waiting to say, ‘I told you so!’ ”

“That’s fair,” conceded Hermione. “If he says anything along those lines I’d be inclined to punch him myself. Poor Neville.” That made Ron look a bit happier.

Professor McGonagall gave a short speech to the students about the news, and reassured them that despite the fact that Dementors would be withdrawn from the school grounds shortly, there was nothing to fear. The more nervous students were comforted by her statement that she was negotiating for some Aurors to be permanently stationed at the school until such time as the escapees were apprehended, and that the Headmaster should be returning to the school soon.

Harry frowned as he read Hermione’s passed-on newspaper in detail. They were insinuating that Lupin had deliberately helped set things up and manipulated events to _let_ himself be arrested – that it was a sinister inside job arranged with Black to help the rest of the Death Eaters escape. After Harry had finished his breakfast and finished his thorough read through of the paper, he found when he rose that he had two new shadows. Percy Weasley and Angelina Johnson were hovering right by his chair.

“Where to, Harry?” asked Percy.

Harry sighed. “Potter Watch, huh? I guess I can say goodbye to my privacy again.”

“You got it!” said Johnson with a grin. “Stalking is caring, Harry. But we’ll do our best not to bug you.”

Harry trooped up to the dorm with his escort, and was glad that they didn’t insist on coming into the actual dorm (not after Percy had glanced inside, anyway). Thank goodness there were no classes since the Easter holidays had just started – he had a lot to do. He had plans to make, favours to call in, and letters to write. But Neville came first.

Bundled up in a sad huddle of scarlet blankets on his bed Neville said despondently, “You don’t need to worry about me, Harry. I’m sure you’ve got other things to do.”

“Nothing more important than talking to my best friend, Nev.”

Neville might’ve cried a bit then, but neither he nor Harry would ever admit to it later. They talked for a couple of hours about the breakout and who might be involved, Neville’s yearning for revenge and lack of confidence in his ability and courage to bring it about, and the unfairness of life that left them both without parents to care for them.

-000-

Talking discreetly to his Slytherin friends later that day with eavesdropping Gryffindor guards in tow was an exercise in frustration. It was all, “What do _you_ think?” and “I really couldn’t say.” Crabbe and Greg wouldn’t talk to him at _all_ , and Draco seemed rather wary, but relaxed when no-one (self-appointed guards included) seemed inclined to rant at him.

“Obviously I don’t believe father knows anything about what happened, but I will undertake to write to him and let you know what he says, Harry,” Draco promised. “And I shall mention that you are still keen on getting Black a trial.”

“Thanks, Draco. And uh, you might want to stay away from Ron at the moment.”

“I always try to be as little associated with Weasley as possible,” Draco said, then hesitated as he glanced at Harry’s frowning red-haired guard, remembering that the Head Boy was Ron’s older brother. “No offence meant to you, of course, Weasley.”

“Of course,” Percy said brusquely.

“For I’m sure _you_ are not responsible for his ill-bred behaviour, after all. _You’re_ an exemplar of proper conduct,” Draco said in what he obviously thought was a sycophantically diplomatic manner (though it made Harry wince). Thankfully Percy didn’t seem to take offence at any of it.

“If I _was_ responsible for all my siblings’ behaviour, Fred and George would have me in weekly detentions,” Percy said with a rueful sigh, making Johnson laugh.

“They’re alright,” she said with a smile. “They just like to have a bit of fun, that’s all.”

Percy huffed dismissively.

Pansy and Tracey didn’t have much advice to offer, and only vaguely stated opinions and comforting words. Millicent’s shy suggestion that he carry around Storm more often for protection seemed an interesting one that Pansy decidedly approved of.

“I’ll ask him and see what he thinks,” Harry said hesitantly. “He’s mostly nocturnal, and usually likes to sleep the day away in his tank.”

It was Daphne who offered the best suggestion, calling him away out of earshot of the guards (but still under their watchful eye, and those of their friends) for a quiet whisper.

“I know you are hoping Bumblebore will fix everything with Black, but you cannot rely on that. You need to work on your alliances, and use your connections to push your agenda if you want him freed.”

He nodded. “Yes, that’s what I thought too. I have a few ideas about what to do there.”

“Have you thought of the Slug Club?” she suggested. “I haven’t been sent an invitation to his Easter party, but I hear _you_ have been. Draco’s been invited too, you know.”

“Oh! I hadn’t thought of that - that’s a good idea, and it’s coming up soon. It should be a good opportunity to mingle.”

“I’ve heard,” she said confidingly, “that Professor Slughorn is very partial to crystallised pineapple, fine brandy and mead, and tickets to Quidditch matches. And he has built up a fine network of client families and alliances, including well-placed wizards and witches within the Ministry. And even though he knows we are still young, he is smart enough to realise we will be adults soon enough, and our favours owed and appreciation of his help all the more valuable. Also, he will invite adults to his soirees too sometimes – useful connections for his prize Slug Club students.”

“Thanks Daphne,” he said, with a polite nod of gratitude.

“Happy to help,” she said, with a rather charming smile.

After checking in with all his close friends (with the exception of Anthony who had gone home to his family for Passover a week ago), he headed back to the dorm.

Harry had a dreadful idea about whom to contact for help on ensuring Sirius’ freedom. It was so wrong. It went against everything he believed in, and how he preferred to live his life. But it just might work. He had a letter to write. A couple of letters, actually – for he also wanted to dash off a quick note to Sirius Black to prompt him to write and explain what was going on.

-000-

Harry had a large number of owls arrive for him that evening after sunset. When he went to the dorm after dinner he found them sitting on the stone windowsill of the dorm in a crowded jostling row, while others perched on the top rail of his four-poster bed. He noticed Ron glancing almost jealously at the line of waiting owls, but he didn’t understand why. He’d be happy to swap places and spend his evening playing catch-the-string with a gangly but still cute kitten, rather than answering mail.

“Is one of you from Padfoot?” he asked optimistically, and one hooted and flapped over happily to perch on his arm (with its painfully sharp talons poking at his skin) to be divested of its missive. Harry unfolded it with eager nervousness. He was _sure_ that Sirius wouldn’t break into Azkaban. Well, _almost_ completely sure. A little reassurance wouldn’t go astray.

_Dear Harry,_

_I’m sure you have heard the news by now about the Azkaban breakout. In case you are wondering, of course it wasn’t me._

It sounded like Sirius hadn’t gotten his letter yet (school owls weren’t the fastest), but luckily was going to explain things for him anyway.

_My plan was to have my day in court at last and be a free man – a plan that alas is ruined for now but hopefully not for good. Amelia Bones is proving a steadfast supporter (since she’s one of the people who has seen my Pensieved memories), and is joining with Dumbledore in pushing for a new trial date to be set. I’ve been advised by a few people to sit tight and not hand myself in until this all settles down a bit, as there’s more than one person pushing for a death sentence or the Kiss, or an “accidental” death as I “try to escape capture”. The Minister has the brains of a troll, and wants me Kissed by Dementors as quickly as possible so he can show the public he’s “doing something”, and unfortunately he seems to have a fair number of supporters. For the love of Merlin, please do **not** tell him or anyone else anything about where I am, or that I’m writing to you. Anyone who needs to know and can be trusted already knows where I am._

_I would venture you might be wondering about a certain escapee of my acquaintance, and wondering if that might have motivated me to rescue him. I must confess that the thought crossed my mind. However, I trusted that with his trial date so soon, it would be better to wait and see him free that way! He has asked me not to gossip, so I shan’t say where he is, but shall merely assure you that he is alive and though not completely well, he should recover in due course._

_Of course Pettigrew must have been involved in the breakout. Amelia is sure of it, from the witness’ memories. One of the men in Death Eater masks was missing a finger, you see!!_

That sounded like pretty good evidence! Not perfect, but a good clue.

_Dumbledore is muttering dire suspicions about You-Know-Who’s involvement, but doesn’t want to admit to why he thinks that given the man died years ago, which is driving Amelia to distraction. I think that Pettigrew surely must have gotten in contact with a couple of other Death Eaters who eluded arrest – he would never have the guts to come up with a plan like this on his own so someone must be telling him what to do. I know now you are friends with the Malfoys (though I simply cannot understand why) but please do be careful around them – don’t go off alone with any of that family. The Imperius claim was a bald-faced lie that only worked because their family’s vaults are deep._

Hmph.

_You have my deepest gratitude for being so understanding and lending me the cloak a bit longer. I will take good care of it, I promise! Please tell Minnie – Professor McGonagall to you – that I wasn’t at all involved in the breakout in any way whatsoever, and that I will send her necklace back as soon as it is safe. Let her know that I am actually not using it at all – I’m merely wearing it in case of emergencies. Actually no, never mind Harry, I shall write to her myself._

_I’m glad to hear you are thinking about my offer of a home, even if it is just to visit for a little while over the holidays. Yes, I am doing much better now, and thank you for enquiring! As to your other question, no, I do not believe there is a pond for Storm where I am staying now. But to be honest with you, I am not **completely** sure, as the back door has been barricaded for years as the garden has gotten very out of control and aggressive, and no-one wants to deal with it. Well, I certainly do not at any rate, and the old house-elf here is neither sufficiently fit nor willing to set his hands to the task. But there is a cellar with lots of rats to catch! And some mysterious creatures infesting the curtains – he’s welcome to hunt them too. So that might be an amusement for him? And he can have an old copper tub to swim in if he wants. I shall rely on seeing you in the summer! Thinking of which, I hope you liked the coat I got you for Christmas! _

Huh. He’d have to ask about the boots, like Lucius recommended. It seemed plausible. But how could he access his vault while on the run?

_The fit can be adjusted if it is not quite tailored right. I didn’t want to sign a card for the gift in case you threw it away before you had the chance to get to know me. What would you like for your birthday? More clothes? A new broom? Something for your snake?_

_With best wishes from your godfather,_

_Sirius Black_

_(Padfoot)_

Harry wrote a quick response, thanking him sincerely for his letter and all the information, and encouraging him to continue pushing for a trial, and promising that he’d help. He also threw in a testing remark about the non-existent boots he’d gotten with the coat, and ignored his remarks about the Malfoys.

“Which owls think they have a really _urgent_ letter?” Harry asked tiredly, looking at the large group of letter-bearing owls awaiting attention. He didn’t want to do any of this, really.

Most just sat there, but a couple hooted insistently, and one stubborn horned owl flew over to land on Harry’s shoulder, and pecked at another owl with striped feathers to get it away from Harry, clacking its beak sharply and fanning its wings out threateningly like a halo of feathers around its head and body.

“Okay, okay! You can go first!” Harry said. _Pushy thing_.

_To the Heir of Slytherin,_

_Oh great,_ thought Harry resignedly. _Another Slytherin fan. I haven’t had one of those in a while._ It was even more awkward to correspond with such people now he knew it may give him away as _actually_ being the Heir if he responded to them. Sometimes he just ignored them altogether now.

_I hope you will pardon my impertinence in trying to contact you yet again, and I hope this latest letter reaches you. I have tried to send more than one letter that my owl refused to carry, not that any blame rests with yourself of course – I must somehow be at fault in my method of attempting to contact you. Yet now I have hope for a different response on this occasion as lately I have heard whispers that a lucky few have contacted you of late and been granted the privilege of hearing from you._

He’d have to explain about the owl wards again, if he wrote back. He was quite practiced at that now – a number of fans had a history of sending letters, or even presents, which never garnered a reply.

_My reason for contacting you is first to tender my offer of support to you in your current endeavours. Our family has grown to be well positioned socially, despite the recent loss of my elder brother, and I hold the regency of our House in trust for him, as well as a position as a member of the Wizengamot. I am currently engaged at last to a fine young pure-blood wizard of good standing and moderate wealth, whom I am sure you would approve of._

Harry wasn’t sure why she thought he’d care who she married – it was a bit confusing. Perhaps it was that whole “monster of Slytherin who kills the impure” thing. Some people unfortunately tended to assume he _must_ be a blood purist.

_My second reason is a more personal one – to beg you for information. My brother Decius was never a Death Eater (he was in fact still in Hogwarts during the last war). I regret to say he was imprisoned in Azkaban five years ago on charges of possession of ‘Dark’ artefacts and practising ‘Dark’ magic. For the sake of my family’s reputation we have renounced him publicly, and contact him only by the most roundabout of means. Yet of course we in truth still love him dearly, and always will. We certainly do not feel he deserves eight years in Azkaban for his so-called crimes._

_I have heard nothing in the newspaper or from contacts in the Ministry in regards to his escape, nor about his continued imprisonment. Some say, however, that more prisoners broke out than were reported. They say the Ministry is attempting to cover up their incompetence in sending away all their Dementor guards to Hogwarts by making the breakout seem less impressive than it truly was. Thus I have hope. Did Sirius Black liberate my brother Decius from Azkaban along with the Death Eaters? I beg of you most humbly, can you tell me where he is? Naturally I will understand if you cannot trust me with the details, but please I beg for some tiny scrap of information as to whether he is alive or dead, free or imprisoned. For the Ministry is being more close-mouthed and unhelpful than a goblin is to a pauper; they will tell me nothing at all and empty platitudes will not suffice to soothe my troubled mind. I cannot stop crying for thinking about my beloved brother. I simply need to know the truth._

It was a shame she thought Sirius was behind the breakout. It did explain why she was writing to him though – he’d been a staunch defender of Sirius, if not as publicly and actively as Dumbledore had been lately. Maybe she’d written to him too. He felt bad for her about her brother that she missed, and wondered what he’d done that merited an eight year sentence. It seemed like a long time – it was worrying.

_Let me assure you once again that I and all my family have always been ardent supporters of you, and we stand ready to support you should you ever be in need of our assistance in any way. I would be honoured to have the opportunity to serve you._

_Well that last part is nice_ , _if oddly more sycophantic than usual,_ thought Harry. _And it’s potentially useful_.

_I remain, Sir, your faithful and obedient servant,_

_Apulia Blishwick_

_Regent of the House of Blishwick_

Harry spent some time writing a polite response (since her level of distress warranted the courtesy), checking in with Neville once or twice to assure himself he had the right formal wording correct, and wasn’t going to accidentally offend.

He thanked her for her letter, and advised her that the “Heir of Slytherin” title was more a “silly nickname that had stuck” than anything serious, and he would thus prefer not to have letters addressed as such in the future (that tack convinced _some_ people he wasn’t the Heir). He carefully expressed regret for her brother’s situation, including his personal dislike for the harsh conditions imposed on prisoners at Azkaban and the severity of the sentence, and let her know that regrettably he had no special insight into the details of whether any additional prisoners had escaped in the recent breakout. However, if he did happen to hear anything he would let her know immediately. (And he made a mental note to discreetly ask Sirius if he knew.) He advised her to get in contact with Madam Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, whom he had been assured by others was a trustworthy and well-informed witch in regards to the details of the breakout – even those the paper was not reporting on. And last, but by no means least, he said he advocated for fair and just trials for everyone accused of crimes, including her brother, and others such as his cousin and House Regent, Sirius Black. He had enlisted Neville’s help in trying to word that delicately, but worried that it hadn’t come out quite as subtly as he wanted.

 _Well_ , he thought, _it will have to do. I have many other letters to attend to. Not to mention I have homework and TMAs that I’d rather be busy worrying about._ Getting all his tutor-marked assignments done was getting tougher with less time on his hands, but so far he was managing.

The exotic and rather beautiful striped owl with tawny and dark brown vertical stripes of feathers, and tufts of feathers standing up like pointed ears pushed its way to the front once Blishwick’s letter had been dealt with and her owl sent off with Harry’s response.

It turned out to be bearing the other response Harry had been especially awaiting… and dreading slightly even though it had been his own idea to write to the man. Lockhart had written back swiftly to Harry’s letter in which he’d begged for help in dealing better with the media.

_Dear Harry,_

_How simply delightful to hear from you again! I would simply love to resume my erstwhile role as your mentor, and be your patron to shepherd you through the wild, stormy oceans of talking with the media!_

Harry sighed. He’d gotten the response he wanted. He just didn’t like it very much.

_It is a very wise choice to take up the mantle of your fame and make your first forays into actively cultivating connections with the **Daily Prophet**. May I say that from their permanent staff I believe Andy Smudgley would be most inclined to present you in the most favourable light, and a little donation in thanks for his efforts wouldn’t go astray! About twenty Galleons should do the trick. Rita Skeeter is a most  impressive writer, and quite the rising star at the **Prophet** at the moment. If you think you can get her on side flattery may be your best bet there, as well as a little thank you gift of some trinket appropriate to a lady. However, word has it that she bears you a grudge for “snubbing” her in the past. You can’t snub reporters, Harry! They are the planks over the swamp of society that keep celebrities such as ourselves out of the common muck! Look at how Dumbledore is faring at the moment – you are quite right to be concerned about that. Word has it that his positions with the ICW and as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot are in danger! All because of this mad quest to see Sirius Black freed._

_Not that I’m saying you’re mad, Harry!_

It sure sounded like it.

_But Harry, are you sure I can’t talk you out of joining Dumbledore in his spiralling descent into unpopularity? I suspect the answer is no! Now, don’t glare at the letter. That will give you wrinkles!_

Harry scowled at the letter rebelliously. He could almost hear the man’s annoying and carefully charming laugh.

_Well, if it must be done, it must be done right. We can’t have you tilting at a target and missing! But if you can pull it off you can emerge as a Champion of Justice._

_You asked where your Headmaster was going wrong, and if I thought there was anything you could do to help further your godfather’s cause. What an excellent question._

_I would say that in the main he was doing quite well, until this dreadful business with a breakout at Azkaban! However, I would say that with my peerless and much broader experience in working with public opinion, that there is one thing he neglected to pay as much attention to as he should have. And that is the court of public opinion!_

_While it is all very well to secure a court date and convince a few people in the Ministry that a trial is well deserved and overdue, he failed to seize the hearts and minds of the general public on the matter – they still cower in fear of Black. And without the public on his side, he loses the ear of the Minister!_

Harry thought about it. It sounded reasonable.

_The public isn’t won over with dry facts and appeals to justice, Harry. They crave drama and excitement!! You must tug on the heartstrings of their souls, not reason with them. If you don’t give a reporter some meaty story to write full of violet prose, they will find their own angle. Be sure to make their job easier for them by giving them the angle you want them to write!_

_Your few paltry statements so far have been a brief appeal to fairness and a desire for the truth – that you want to see Black stand trial. It’s a good start, but rather dry._

_Consider crying!_

Oh _no_.

_An appeal to evoke sympathy and pity could work well for you, given your age. Either that you want to see your poor innocent godfather freed, and that you weep at the tales of the tremendous deprivations suffered by an innocent man in prison, the beloved friend of your lost parents, framed by yet another they trusted! Or that you are but a poor confused lamb who doesn’t know what’s right, but know that your poor departed parents would want to see the truth come out. You need to stop being so shy and retiring and you should mention your parents more, Harry! The public should be reminded of the source of your fame, and your dear parents’ sacrifice for you, and for the freedom of the wizarding world._

Harry thought he might be sick, and took a bit of a break halfway through the letter. He kept the striped owl waiting for a response, while dealing swiftly with a few other items of mail. Mostly they were people checking if he was alright, which were easy enquiries to answer. There was also a short note from Dumbledore telling him to sit tight and not give up hope as he was still pushing onwards to help Black. Well, he wouldn’t give up hope, but he wanted to do more than passively sit back and expect the world to be a fair place where everything ended up fine in the end. Because in his experience it usually didn’t. He wrote Dumbledore a polite letter of thanks and then with renewed determination he turned back to finish reading Lockhart’s letter.

_If not pity, then anger or fear would be the response to cultivate in your audience. But anger needs a direction! And making people afraid is not something you want to be associated with! Fear is best evoked only when you can assure your listeners that all ended well, or that you can protect them. And Pettigrew, presuming he is indeed the fiend behind this latest outrage, is nowhere to be found, nor are his companions. Such elusive targets cannot assist you as things to aim the public’s anger or fears at, and the Aurors are not under your personal direction so unlike the Minister you cannot assure the public that you (and only you) are doing everything you can to protect the populace. Remember to never insult the Minister! You must always be delighted with whomever is in power._

_Best to stick with an appeal to pity for this story, to keep your readers engaged in your plight. Let them doubt Black (I myself am not sure of the truth!) but be assured that you – and they – deserve to know the truth, for your poor parents’ sake. The public and the Ministry can cast aspersions on an old wizard with a complicated story full of corruption and secrecy which he himself is mired in, but none would dare sneer at a young boy who just wants to honour his parents’ memory and find the truth behind the betrayal. Keep it simple, Harry! Keep it dramatic! I might add in passing that I would not even bother talking about that business with the rat – that’s a hard sell. Just stick to the bit about how Pettigrew’s body was never found. Don’t forget to speak in a dramatic whisper for that part. Similarly, don’t get distracted speaking about Professor Lupin or trying to convince them about your crazy theory about You-Know-Who – you want the reporters to focus on your main story and you need to sound convincing and focused!_

_And what a good idea it is you had to think of featuring on the Wizarding Wireless as well! And might I add that all this sounds like an excellent opportunity to promote my – or dare I say our – upcoming book, **Battles with the Basilisk**? We’re now looking at a summer release in late June for the glorious sales and promotional opportunities the season holds (don’t forget you’ll be helping with that!), but the copies are now stockpiled and waiting! Would you like an advance copy to read over?_

_Miss Tolipan and her mother sound like a most useful connection to cultivate! Miss Lovegood I am less sure of. Better to establish your reputation in the more reputable papers. But the **Quibbler** might be interested in the rat theory! That sounds like their kind of story. You could talk to them about it as an anonymous source – should you be proven right later you’ve built yourself up as a useful font of information (good for the future!), and should it be untrue then there’s no harm done!_

_I am, with affection and esteem, your friend and patron,_

_Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, O.M. (Third Class)_

Harry sighed, and bowed to his wisdom. He’d play the poor tragic orphan for the press, if that’s what it would take to get justice for his godfather. He’d played worse roles than that, in the hope of a better life. Sirius certainly deserved his best effort.

He wrote a polite reply back to Lockhart full of thanks, and wrapped up the last of his mail, including a letter to the _Daily Prophet_ inviting them to meet him for an interview. He then cast a couple of necessary cleaning charms on the bedposts and windowsill where some impatiently waiting owls hadn’t been polite enough to nip out the window to do their business. Yuck.

“ _I hope you’re finished with those feathered pestss at last_ ,” hissed Storm with irritation from his tank. “ _I have been waiting patiently for attention for hourss and been **ignored**_.”

 _Why couldn’t he be diurnal instead of nocturnal_ , Harry thought with a tired sigh.

-000-

Under the guise of taking Storm to visit friends at the Slytherin table on Saturday morning, Harry seized an opportunity for a couple of quick conversations with people. It wasn’t that socialising with people from other Houses was exactly banned at meal times, it was just unusual, and Harry hated standing out. But needs must – he had a lot to organise and very little time to do it in.

First Storm got deposited with Millicent for some attention and bonding, and a couple of compliments on his fierceness and handsome scales were translated to his serpentine friend’s open delight.

“Tell him that it’s been too long since he visited me, and that I think he’s very fierce, and growing so large and beautiful! Just look at his pretty scales,” Millicent cooed, stroking his smooth scaly skin cautiously (and not too near his head). Harry translated her praise obediently.

“ _Tell her I am much bigger and fiercer than I was, and my lightning cloud that attacked the Dog-man was indeed magnificent though sssadly not fatal, and that I will shed my ssskin again sssoon,_ ” Storm said proudly.

Harry translated it _almost_ accurately, leaving out the homicidal wish. (And reminding Storm that Dog-man was a friend now, which Storm _grudgingly_ conceded was true… but it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that he wished his lightning had been stronger. Harry worried about his attitude sometimes.)

“Pansy, are you going to Slughorn’s Easter party tomorrow?” Harry asked.

“No, alas I am not invited. Did you hear? He is actually hosting two parties. One for the older NEWT students, and one for first to fifth years. Though I haven’t heard the first and second years are getting many invitations at all.”

“So you’d like to go if you could?”

“Oh yes! It sounds delightful. Daphne said you and Draco are invited? I heard Nott and Zabini are invited as well, from Slytherin. Too many boys, don’t you think?”

Harry nodded thoughtfully, and muttered a distracted and hasty farewell as he collected Storm (earning an exasperated nasal snort from her that he didn’t notice), then he wandered down the table to talk to the next person on his mental checklist.

“Derri… uh, Peregrine, I was wondering if you could do me a small favour?” he asked quietly, stumbling over the name as he remembered they were officially on a first name basis since Yule and that he shouldn’t call him Derrick any longer.

“Certainly, Harry,” he responded politely, with an interested look.

A friend at his side muttered disdainfully, “I really cannot understand why you bother; he may be a Parselmouth but he is still merely a third year, and a… Gryffindor.” He looked down his nose at Harry and Storm, which earned him a glare from Peregrine.

“Pay no mind to him,” he said apologetically. “What can I do for you?”

The other boy huffed in annoyance and returned his attention to his plate of eggs on toast.

“Uh, well I was wondering,” Harry said nervously, “if you and perhaps you and another Slytherin could be my escorts around Hogsmeade on Sunday? I’d rather… well, a little more discretion than is usually afforded by people from Potter Watch following me everywhere.” Harry tried to send a message by widening his eyes in a meaningful look, but he didn’t think it really was working so well. “I can tell Percy myself of course – he’s been organising things – but I don’t want to do that if you won’t agree to do it, obviously. That would just look silly, and be rather rude.”

“Do you have a date?” Peregrine asked curiously, glancing down the table at Harry’s third year Slytherin friends.

“No!” Harry said. “No, that’s not it. Look, can we talk about the details later?” he asked with a note of pleading in his voice, and a jerk of his head at Peregrine’s friend and some others at the table who were merely feigning disinterest in the conversation.

“Certainly. For the second person, would you prefer Flint, Farley, or Montague?”

 _Not Farley_ , he thought to himself. _Montague I already owe a favour to and I’d rather not owe a second, but I’m all square with Flint. Mind you, at least I know Montague can keep a secret, or I would’ve heard rumours circulating about the Darker books I borrowed from the library, or how I sent a letter to Millicent._

“Montague, for first preference. Flint if he’s not free.”

“I’ll see what I can do to fulfil this favour,” hinted Peregrine.

“I won’t forget your help in this matter.” Harry bowed his head in thankful acknowledgement, and scurried off to the Gryffindor table for breakfast.

-000-

The rest of Saturday was a busy day for Harry. First he had a secretive conference in the dorm with Neville and Hermione about his plans for the next couple of days – both were interested in coming along to his meeting with a reporter from the Prophet, should they show up in Hogsmeade on Sunday as per Harry’s written invitation, but only Neville was interested in sneaking off with him to Grantown-on-Spey on Saturday afternoon.

“You could be expelled,” Hermione worried, “or get a detention.”

“It’s not _technically_ against the rules,” Harry weaselled. “It’s just _assumed_ you won’t go elsewhere, given the ban on Flooing or Apparating to other locations whilst on a Hogsmeade weekend.”

“That’s a pretty flimsy technicality! And aren’t you worried about the Death Eaters on the loose? Neville?”

“Not really,” said Neville. “I think the last place they’d look for us, if they’re even trying, is a Muggle town. Hogsmeade would be more dangerous.”

“True,” she conceded, chewing at her lip worriedly. “Well… be careful! Take your wands! And don’t forget about Slug Club tomorrow evening! If you get caught and get a detention you’ll miss out on that, and it would be a real shame.”

“I certainly won’t. I’m hoping Slughorn can help talk to people about Sirius,” Harry said.

“Good idea!” Hermione said approvingly. “I’ll help too.”

“I’m not invited, but good luck,” said Neville.

Harry peeled off on his morning networking missions, making plans to meet up at lunchtime with Neville and Hermione to head off to Hogsmeade. The other two made plans to spend the morning quietly working on their Easter homework and doing some spell practice, which made Harry sigh with envy. The Weasley twins pulled away from the Gryffindor table as he rose.

“You don’t really need to follow me around, you know,” he said optimistically.

“Could be fun though,” one said jocularly.

“There might be trouble, and we’re not missing out on that!” grinned the other.

After a brief chat with Percy about his preferred escorts for Sunday, Harry was off like a shot weaving through the crowd of students leaving the Great Hall, in hopes of catching a couple of Ravenclaws before they dispersed to their private studying nooks and other activities for the day.

“Make way firsties! Heir of Slytherin on a mission, coming through!” laughed one Weasley.

The startled sea of tiny Hufflepuffs parted before him, and Harry buried his face in his hands. “Do you really _have_ to do that?” he whined.

“It’s still funny, wouldn’t you agree Fred?” said the twin who was thus presumably George.

“I’d say so. Look at them scurry!” laughed Fred. “You looked like you were in a hurry, Harry. We’re just trying to help. It’s life or death, right?”

Harry hesitated, and said, “Well, I’d still rather you didn’t do that, but technically, yes. It’s to help Sirius Black. Innocent you know. Today I’m going to try and enlist as much help for him as I can.”

“Well there you go! Move aside, little gnomes!”

Harry moved swiftly through the crowd like a celebrity flanked by two red-headed grinning bouncers, and eventually managed to spot Luna Lovegood’s pale blonde hair as she went around a corner.

“Lovegood! Wait up!” he panted, as he jogged up to her. He was pleased to notice she had her shoes on today.

She turned with a smile, “Oh, hello Harry! Or should it be ‘Potter’? We’re friends now, right? It was a lovely card you sent me a while ago. We don’t talk much, but we can still be friends, can’t we? I’m not really sure how these things work, to tell you the truth.

“Did you know the Weasley twins are following you? Be careful not to eat anything they give you,” she finished with a whisper.

“Harry is fine. And I’m sorry we haven’t talked much!” he said guiltily. “I don’t see you that often, and Potter Watch is often pretty busy. But you’re welcome to stop by my table in the library whenever I’m studying with other friends, if you want to join us for a quiet study session.”

Her face lit up happily. “That sounds lovely, thank you.”

“Hi Loony!” said one of the Weasleys cheerfully, and her gaze went unfocused and distant. Harry had lost track of which twin was which, again.

“Hello,” she replied dreamily, with a smile at the empty air.

“Unless you’re close friends, you should address her as Lovegood, or Miss Lovegood,” Harry said frostily, turning on the two.

“Well pardon _me_ , Mr. Pure-blood Etiquette!” said the culprit, while the other laughed.

“Look, can you move back a little, give us a chance to chat?” asked Harry.

“Alright. But no hanky-panky! George and I will be your designated chaperones today. It wouldn’t be _proper_ to leave even a gentleman such as yourself alone with a lady for too long,” said Fred, still sounding kind of offended and making George laugh even more.

They gave the Harry and Luna a little space, but kept them in sight.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“You’re welcome.”

Uncomfortable with dwelling on the topic of her teasing, Harry got straight down to business. “So Luna, I was wondering if your father might like to run an article about Sirius Black in his newspaper? I’d be interested in providing some anonymous information about what really happened, about how Peter Pettigrew framed him, and then turned into a rat to hide for years.”

“It won’t be very anonymous,” she said gravely. “I know it’s you.”

“Uh, well yes,” he said awkwardly. “But your father wouldn’t have to say it’s me in the paper.”

“I suppose he could do that, if you wanted. It might be an interesting story. And of course Sirius Black is really Stubby Boardman, and was never in Azkaban at all! Do you have more information about how he managed that?”

Harry looked at her, bewildered. “He was definitely in Azkaban. Who is Mr. Boardman, exactly?”

“But how could he be in Azkaban, _and_ at the same time be enjoying a quiet retirement from _The Hobgoblins_ in Lancashire?”

Harry stared at her, and she looked more uncomfortable as time went on and he didn’t say anything, before shifting her gaze to stare absentmindedly at a portrait a little way down the hallway – it was a witch stirring something noisome and slimy into a bubbling cauldron. _The girl is definitely strange_ , Harry thought. _But so what? I’m kind of strange, too. No-one here is normal_. _Some of us are just stranger than others, and I’m certainly in no position to throw stones._

“Perhaps someone misinformed your father,” he said diplomatically, “as I heard direct from Sirius Black himself that he was definitely in Azkaban for a decade. I suppose it’s not impossible that he pretended to be Stubby Boardman for a while _after_ escaping.”

Luna turned back to him with a shy smile, as her eyes lit up again with vibrancy and focus.

“I’m sure Daddy would love to write a new article, and I’ll let him know you’re interested. You should owl him your ideas – the address is in the back of _The Quibbler_.”

“Thank you Luna, I’ll do that.”

He bowed briefly in thanks to her, and she curtseyed back (rather than the more usual bow). Then Harry was off again, in search of Alice Tolipan, but after resorting eventually to asking a young witch with a blue and bronze hair ribbon where she was, they said all the older students had already left for Hogsmeade.

Harry was off to the West Tower to visit the Owlery next. The circular room was crammed with owls, and the straw-covered floor was littered with white splatters of owl droppings with occasional spots of black and splotches of brown, and the regurgitated disgusting furry pellets of the remains of mice and voles.

“Must you write your letters here?” complained a twin as Harry pulled out parchment, a quill, and ink. “The smell is really not that appealing.”

“I know, but I’ll be quick,” he promised. “One of the letters is already written.” He scribbled out an extra note mentioning Luna on the end of his letter to Mr. Lovegood which already detailed the “sinister plot” to frame Sirius Black by his “traitorous conniving friend whose body was _never found_ ” and who “lived as a pet rat for _mysterious reasons unknown_ ”. He also wrote a new letter to Mrs. Tolipan, asking her to advocate for a trial for Black. With Lockhart’s advice in mind, he wrote about how it brought him to tears thinking about how his parents’ real betrayer was running free, not even searched for! And that a true and loyal friend of the family had suffered such severe deprivations with a decade in Azkaban as an innocent man! He knew his parents would have wanted to see the matter all sorted out with a proper trial, where the _truth could come out._ He hoped she could mention the matter on the Wizarding Wireless if her boss agreed, and would be at her disposal for a written interview upon request, if they needed additional quotes.

“Finally,” grumbled a twin, as the second school owl was dispatched. “Want to go play Quidditch now? We could guard you _and_ have a bit of fun.”

“No, it’s off to Slughorn’s office next,” Harry said.

“Good old Sluggy! He invited us to the junior Slug Club party tomorrow, you know. Says we’ve got a real future as Potioneers,” said a twin happily. “I hope he stays on as Potions Master next year too – he’s much happier with us experimenting in class than Snape was.”

“He copied your idea with Potter Watch, you know,” said the other. “I heard he used to just keep Slug Club invitations for the Sixth and Seventh years, maybe with a few rare exceptions. But for this party at least, he’s split it up into senior and junior groups. Tonight is for the older students, and tomorrow is for the fifth years and below.”

Professor Slughorn was _delighted_ to see Harry stop by his office for a little chat, and Fred and George stayed outside the office to play Exploding Snap while they waited for Harry to re-emerge.

“I was wondering, sir,” said Harry after introductions were out of the way, “if you might be able to use a spare ticket I have to next month’s Appleby Arrows match? I heard you were a bit of a fan of Quidditch, and of course as it’s a weekend during term, and not even a Hogsmeade weekend, I won’t be able to go.”

“Oho! Well I would be happy to take it off your hands,” said Slughorn jovially, reaching out to take the proffered ticket. “But I do wonder why you got a ticket when you wouldn’t be able to attend?”

“Well the team’s manager Jacob Williams sends me free tickets. He’s a bit of a fan. You know… the war.”

“Good work! I must say, I usually go to the Holyhead Harpies’ matches. The captain - Gwenog Jones – was a former student of mine. Slug Club member, of course!”

“I’ve heard they’re a very good team too. So I was wondering,” said Harry with an air of casualness that didn’t fool the keen ear of the deceptively relaxed-looking professor, “if my cousin Pansy Parkinson might be able to attend your Slug Club party tomorrow? She’d really love to be invited, and I hoped I might be able to bring her as a guest?”

“First cousin? I wasn’t aware there was a link to the Potter family there? I was sure James was an only child.”

“Second cousin on my mother’s side through a… disowned Parkinson family member, and a third cousin on my father’s side via the Blacks. ‘Cousin’ keeps things simple.” Harry censored himself from saying “Squib” as he remembered Anthony’s advice to avoid using blood purity terms. It _was_ a bad habit of his, and he was trying to work on it.

Slughorn said he’d be _delighted_ to invite Harry’s cousin to his party. “Though I regret I cannot at this stage make any promises for my dinner parties! They are rather more _exclusive_ than my larger soirées.”

They chatted for a little while about the upcoming party, and past Slug Club members. Harry saw more photos on the wall than he was really interested in, but put on a façade of interest to cover his impatience to leave. He did love seeing another photo of his mother in one, however! Slughorn raved about how good she was at potions, which Harry was eager to hear all about.

Harry volunteered that Colin Creevey was a rather good photographer who’d taken photos that Witch Weekly had bought in the past. “I’m not saying you have to invite him, by any means! I just thought if you _did_ want some photos, I’d be happy to speak to him and invite him to attend in a professional capacity?”

“Excellent thought Harry, capital idea,” said Slughorn, with a curious look at Harry. “I must say that being raised amongst Muggles certainly hasn’t done you any harm. You seem to have taken to wizarding society quite well. And dare I suggest that there’s a social nous that I usually see more obviously in my Slytherin students?”

Harry looked embarrassed at that shrewd observation with its mix of flattery and its rather patronising attitude towards Muggles. “Well there’s a _dash_ of Slytherin in my nature, I suppose. And I have Pansy and a few Slytherin friends to give me tips now and then.”

“Speaking of which, you’re welcome to bring your pet snake along to the party tomorrow!”

“Thank you sir, that’s very thoughtful of you and I know he’ll appreciate that opportunity too. He likes to get out and about with me when he can, and he’s nocturnal so evening outings are fun for him.”

Eventually Harry managed to escape, glad that Slughorn didn’t want to talk _forever_ like Lockhart used to. As he and the twins wandered through the lower levels of Hogwarts, he ran across Draco.

“Harry, at last!” panted Draco. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Stay put, I’ve got to go fetch Flint – he wants to talk to you. Stay!” He dashed off again after that last command.

The twins chuckled quietly. “Good boy! Harry – _stay_!”

“Knock it off!” cried Harry, batting away their hands as they tried to pat his head and ruffle his hair.

Eventually Flint showed up led by Draco, grandly ignoring the twins’ mutterings about Harry “consorting with the enemy”, which Harry suspected – or hoped – was rooted in their Quidditch rivalry. Draco hovered and followed, curious and quiet, while Flint led Harry away down the corridor out of earshot of the Weasleys.

“So Derrick and I will be your escorts tomorrow, and I want to know what you expect us to do, exactly?”

“Just look the other way tomorrow at Hogsmeade while I sneak off on business of my own,” said Harry. “Maybe keep a low profile while I’m gone.”

“What are you up to, exactly?”

“Business of my own,” said Harry warily.

“Fair enough,” grunted Flint. “So I would like to call in my favour straight away, if that is acceptable to you.”

“Depends on what it is, but sure.”

 “I’d like some help with my Care of Magical Creatures final project,” he said.

“You _do_ remember I’m only in third year, right?”

“Yes, but you are pretty smart – everyone says so. And I have been thinking I could study a snake – you could help with that by talking to it so it doesn’t bite me. Maybe write up a few notes for me.”

“Snakes are actually usually passive and disinclined to bite,” said Harry. “I mean, I’m happy to help if it won’t take too much time, but as a rule of thumb the best idea is probably to just drop the food near it and give it some space. They prefer live to dead food, by the way.”

Flint shook his head. “Maybe _ordinary_ snakes are harmless, but not the kind of creatures Professor Hagrid wants us to study. We have to choose a dangerous creature rated XXXX or above and help look after it for a month and give a talk about it, or write an essay. I thought I would do the talk.”

“He brought Hippogriffs to our first class,” Harry said sympathetically. “They’re XXX creatures according to the Ministry. Draco getting hurt is what helped push through restrictions so he couldn’t keep doing stuff like that.”

Draco nodded silently.

Flint looked unhappy at Harry’s statement, rather than pleased. “Well it may be all well and good for you young kids, but us NEWT students have to do the really dangerous animals,” scowled Flint. “You know what the sixth and seventh year Slytherins call his class? ‘ _Fear of Magical Creatures_.’ And it’s a fair label. He had an Erkling at our first class. You know about them? Tiny evil little elf-gnome creatures that entrance and _eat children_. But he insisted there haven’t been any deaths for decades, and they’re very misunderstood. Rumour has it he wants to show off ‘real friendly’ Acromantulas and dragons at the end of the year if he can get permission. They’re creatures with a five X rating! ‘Known wizard killer – impossible to train or domesticate.’ He’s worse than Kettleburn.”

“Fair enough. I see why you’d like a bit of help with a snake, then. Do you want to do your project on Wonambi? Storm and I would be happy to help you there.”

“No, no, weren’t you listening? It has to be something _dangerous_. At least rated with four Xs by the Ministry standard. He said we can do a five X creature if we can find one we ‘take a likin’ to.’ But words cannot express how little I want to do that. I would rather keep all my limbs where they are thanks. I can’t afford to lose so much as a finger if I want to get on a professional Quidditch team.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “Oh, I guess they’re not in a lot of the British textbooks. You don’t _have_ to study Wonambi. I’d be happy to help with another snake, too. It sounds like fun! But just so you know, Wonambi are a magical snake species with a four X rating.”

“What?” interjected Draco suddenly, looking a little pale. “But I’ve held it! Mother had it in her lap like a pet cat, cooing over it! You never said it was so dangerous!”

“He’s not! Mostly. He’s a sweetheart, really. He won’t hurt any of my friends. But I suppose he is a _bit_ uh… aggressive in stuff he says sometimes, though. He does talk about attacking people sometimes,” Harry admitted with embarrassment, “and he did attack Sirius with a lightning bolt. It’s a good thing I can talk to him, I believe. I think a wild Wonambi would be a lot more trouble – a big one, not a baby snake like Storm. Especially around people they didn’t like. Oh, and you really wouldn’t want a big one around small children. That’s in the booklet.”

“Alright Hagrid Junior, you’ve talked me into it. A domesticated four X snake sounds perfect,” said Flint. “And no-one can say I’m copying _this_ time! But you can’t let anyone else use Storm for their final assignment, right?”

“Sure,” Harry promised lightly. “Not if I have anything to say about it, that is.”

Flint nodded, and bid the boys farewell.

“He wouldn’t attack _me_ would he?” worried Draco.

“No! He likes you, and your mum.”

“It’s not like he could do much anyway,” Draco muttered, mostly to himself. “He’s small still. But what about the lightning?”

“When he’s older he should be able to move large boulders around when he digs, too,” Harry said with a sideways glance at Draco, trying to hide his smirk. “And squeeze people to death.”

Draco shuddered. “I wish Pansy had gotten you something less lethal. He was so _cute_ when you first got him. He’s growing so fast.”

“I like him.”

“Well he obeys you, you overly smug foolhardy Gryffindor! You can talk to him! It’s different!”

“True. I wouldn’t be very keen on him if he didn’t listen to what I said,” Harry admitted. “He only attacked Sirius because I told him to. Oh, but he went after Ron on his own. Remember his personal raincloud?”

“Marvellous,” sighed Draco worriedly with a shake of his head. “He’ll attack on his own.”

“I _had_ been ranting a bit the night before about what a giant prat he was.”

“You could set him on _anyone_ ,” said Draco, with wide eyes.

 _Why was that his first thought?_ wondered Harry.

“But I _wouldn’t_. I even called him off Ron when I realised what he was up to. And anyway, I could probably do something like that with any snake, I think. I haven’t tested that, obviously. But what little literature there is says all snakes will obey a Parselmouth. Which reminds me, I’d appreciate it if you can tell me where to find a book with that snake-summoning spell you cast last year at Ron.”

Draco sighed. “Sure, Harry. A million snake minions, coming up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a little late posting today! I was out watching "Guardians of the Galaxy 2". 
> 
> Thanks to Riniko22 and my husband (let’s call him Perseus) for inspiration for the terrifying CoMC class that NEWT students have to suffer through under Professor Hagrid.
> 
> Thanks as always to all my lovely reviewers! I think I’m caught up on responding to reviews now, except for a backlog of ones pointing out little typos to fix (thanks for alerting me to those, I will try and get to them soon). 
> 
> Special thanks today to all my guest reviewers, whom I can’t reply to except in an author’s note. Particular thanks this week to Julie and Shannon! Julie, I’m glad you had a nice reading binge. Shannon, I’m pleased to hear you enjoy my author’s notes. I put them at the end of a chapter rather than the start, so that it’s easy for those who aren’t interested in them to skip over them easily.
> 
> I’ve had a fair few reviews/comments the last couple of chapters encouraging me to update soon. Please note that this fic is updated weekly every Tuesday morning (Australian time) with a new chapter (may be Mon night in your time zone), and that pattern will continue unabated until all thirty-three chapters are up and this fic is complete. This gives me the freedom to work on other writing projects at my leisure, while still enjoying the fun of posting new things regularly.


	27. Schmoozing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry’s media and schmoozing blitz continues as he makes as many allies as he can for Sirius’s sake. An uninvited guest crashes Harry’s outing.

**_Sunday 3 rd April 1994_ **

Sunday was going to be another busy day for Harry, and it started even before breakfast. He took his bag down to the Great Hall with him, stuffed with supplies like a couple of books, snacks, his belt pouch full of both wizarding and Muggle money, and letters to post (and extra writing supplies just in case). At least one task was removed from his list – Hermione had cancelled April’s H.E.L.P. Society meeting in grudging recognition that the vast majority of members would rather enjoy the Hogsmeade weekend unencumbered by a commitment to a stuffy meeting.

He’d chatted with Storm the night before about Flint wanting to do a project on him, and judicious application of flattery had left Storm thrilled that someone had very wisely selected him as _the_ best dangerous magical creature in the world to pick for a project.

“ _You will take me to him tomorrow, this wise Clever-man that sssomeone sssang a good name for. A name of the sharp weapon-rock_ ,” he ordered. “ _We shall make friendss, and he may feed me_. _He must return me in the evening ssso I can accompany you to your party, sssince you are mean and won’t let me come to the town without sssongss._ ” Storm grudgingly listened to Harry’s repeated explanation about why he couldn’t carry a rainbow serpent around Muggle Scotland, then went to sleep early so he’d be well rested for making friends the next day. In the morning Harry made a copy of the _For Carers of Rainbow Serpents_ booklet with the very useful Gemino Curse Hermione had taught him.

At breakfast Flint was a little wide-eyed at first to have Storm delivered so precipitously, but the booklet and Harry’s reassurances soothed him quickly enough.

“And I should carry him around Hogsmeade?” he asked, clarifying his role as snake carer for the day.

“Yes, he said he’d like that. He wants to make friends and help you with your project – I’ve explained that you think he’s the most awesome and fearsome snake in the world and there’s no other magical creature you’d rather study. All you have to do is offer him a choice of live food or maybe an egg - preferably something small and magical like a Flobberworm - and as a bonus that’ll be handy to write up or talk about for your project. And you need to keep him warm, of course. He might be rather sleepy as he’s nocturnal, but that will make him easier to look after.”

Flint laughed. “He loves flattery more than my Aunt Faustina!”

He sat straight-backed as Harry draped Storm carefully around his neck, and wasn’t the only one listening in as Harry hissed an anxious farewell in Parseltongue to his pet, who promised he would be fine.

“ _If something **does** go wrong, I shall make sssome mist, and sssneak away_ ,” promised Storm. “ _And I will ssstay out of any fightss_ unlesss _of course **you** are in trouble_.”

“If you do have any trouble and I’m not available, you can ask Millicent for help,” fretted Harry to Flint. “He likes her a lot. And don’t forget to read the booklet before the charm fades, and copy out anything you need. And don’t let him get too cold.”

Flint rolled his eyes. “It will be fine, Potter. Don’t worry.”

Harry sighed and said another goodbye to Storm, before heading to the Gryffindor table and getting out a book to read while eating some toast.

Hermione and Neville arrived not long after, helping themselves to some porridge and some kippers, respectively.

“What are you reading?” asked Hermione, peeking at the title of the book Harry was absorbed in. “ ‘ _Easy Spells to Fool Muggles._ ’ Huh.”

“It’s a good book, okay!?” Harry said defensively, with hunched shoulders.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t…” Hermione responded, sounding a bit bewildered by his reaction.

“It’s got loads of useful spells in it!” he insisted quietly. “I’m doing some planning for visiting Grantown-on-Spey again today. And if maybe the source is… well maybe not everything about it is great, it’s still really useful. There’s a spell in here to transfigure a book’s cover temporarily, so it doesn’t look like you’re reading about dragons in public, or whatever. There’s also a Distraction Charm to place on an object like a bag to make people distracted from opening it – they suddenly focus on something else in their environment and find the bag dull – they notice how interesting the sky looks, or a noisy dog barking, or what a nice hat you’re wearing. There’s clothing transfigurations too. I’m trying to find something to help me carry around a broomstick without drawing attention that’s a long-lasting spell I can cast before we go. No luck so far, unfortunately.”

“That sounds really useful Harry, but-”

“-It’s just a book,” he interrupted, sounding sulky. “All knowledge is useful.”

“-But I never said there was anything wrong with it in the first place!” Hermione finished loudly. “Good heavens, Harry! Why are you so prickly about it? What’s wrong?”

“Oh. Sorry. I guess… I thought you’d disapprove.” He scrubbed at his hair in frustration, then reflexively smoothed it back down again so it was neat again. “It’s got a bit of anti-Muggle bias in it. The author talks about them like they’re idiots.” And the book had been a late Christmas present from the Dark Lord, and he’d avoided reading it until now… but it looked so _useful_. He didn’t want to admit that part.

He guessed he’d leapt to conclusions a bit fast while she was talking, and now he felt like he was a grumpy prat who didn’t deserve friends like her.

“Well, I can’t say I’m in love with the title, but I do understand the importance of supporting the Statute of Secrecy. And I’m now well accustomed to the kinds of condescending attitudes some wizards and witches give their books. I do read a _bit_ myself you know,” she said with a smile.

“Anything good in there for today?” asked Neville.

“The Distraction Charm looks good, but I don’t know how to practice it and be sure it’s working right. Given I don’t have a Mug… normal person to test it on.”

“Hmm. Tricky. Just give it a try and see, I guess? Hogsmeade first this morning, right?”

“Yeah. Shopping first, then the interview.”

After breakfast, Harry stopped by Ron’s spot at the table to invite him to meet up with them at _Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop_ at lunch time.

“Why there?” Ron asked. “It’s a bit… frilly isn’t it?”

“I’m meeting someone else there too, it’s all arranged,” Harry said vaguely. “Make it if you can, alright?”

“I’ll do my best,” promised Ron.

Flint and Peregrine escorted the little group of three Gryffindors as they headed out the Hogwarts gates on the path to Hogsmeade.

“Did you notice?” Hermione asked conversationally. “The Dementors are gone.”

Harry looked around. No sight of them, and now she mentioned it, it felt a bit warmer too. Happier. “You’re right! Good riddance.”

“And your other worst nightmare is in London, still,” smirked Flint.

“Hey,” whined Harry, “cut it out.”

“Sorry,” Flint said with a smirk, not looking sorry at all.

“They weren’t around yesterday, either,” said Peregrine.

“Interesting,” said Hermione, looking thoughtful. “What about on Friday? Or Thursday?”

The Slytherins glanced at each other, and Flint shrugged. “I don’t know.”

-000-

Harry enquired in a few shops, but none of them stocked crystallized pineapple. Eventually Flint helped him out with his present for Slughorn, taking Harry’s money to buy a bottle of nice honey mead, since he was of age to do so.

Hermione initially tutted in disapproval, but was mollified by Harry’s reassurances that it was for a gift and of _course_ he wouldn’t drink any himself.

They browsed the shops for a while, with Neville stocking up in _Honeydukes_ with a selection of chocolates and sweets (he seemed partial to ice mice and chocolate frogs, which Harry noted for future gift ideas). Soon enough it was time to head to _Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop_ , where Ron, and hopefully also a reporter from the _Daily Prophet_ would be waiting for him. He hadn’t heard back from them, but then his owl ward _did_ make getting mail in a hurry a bit problematic. He kind of hoped Ron would show – he thought it was likely. He loved attention a lot more than Harry did, but then, he didn’t actually _know_ there might be a reporter there.

To Harry’s relief his plan went smoothly. He farewelled his curious but cooperative Slytherin guards at the door to _Madam Puddifoot’s_ , and Storm too (who was still draped happily atop Flint’s shoulders). Then he greeted Ron who’d been waiting with impatience outside the shop for Harry to show.

“So what’s up, then?” he asked curiously. “I see you’ve got your broomstick with you – did you want to go flying together?”

“No, that’s just for fun later. Now, if everything’s gone according to plan,” replied Harry, “there should be a reporter from the _Prophet_ waiting inside the tea shop to interview me – _us_ – about Sirius Black.”

“Wicked!” said Ron, sounding very impressed. “I saw someone with a camera go inside earlier! I think maybe they’re in there already!”

“I’m going to talk about Black’s innocence, or at least lack of proven guilt. And I’m going to push for a trial, I hope I can count on you to help out, Ron? You’re not nervous about talking to the press, right?”

“Of course not!” he said excitedly. “I’d be happy to help, you can count on me, Harry!”

“You’re a _key witness_ ,” Harry said gravely, making Ron puff up with pride, “so your testimony, as well as Hermione’s, could be _vital_ to helping save an innocent man’s life.”

“I’m ready,” Ron said, determination etching his features.

“Me too,” said Hermione.

“I can leave if you don’t need me,” worried Neville.

“You saw Black’s letter to me, and helped alert Professor McGonagall. And you can talk about what happened at Hogwarts while we were all gone.”

“I’ll t-try,” Neville said uncertainly.

“Even if you say _nothing_ I’ll still appreciate you being here to support me,” said Harry encouragingly, which brought a smile to his friend’s face.

As they entered the tea shop Harry hoped to see Andy Smudgley, but it was a toothy blonde reporter with enormous glasses who hurried over to greet him, cooing her hello.

“Mr. Potter, I was _so_ happy to hear from you at _last_ ,” she said, proffering a manicured hand which he air-kissed the back of politely, as drilled by Pansy. “And aren’t you the little charmer?” She led him over to her table, where a photographer took pictures of them all.

“Thank you for meeting me on such short notice… Ms. Skeeter?”

“Not at all, happy to do so. Such a pity you’ve refused my _previous_ offers of interviews,” she said, with a not-quite-genuine smile, “but that’s water under the bridge now, isn’t it?”

Harry explained about his owl ward, which seemed to thaw her opinion of him slightly.

They chatted for a while, and from the gist of her questions she seemed initially to be hoping to write about the “poor terrified children” traumatised by being attacked by Black, but Hermione’s strident defence of how bravely Harry had leapt in to attack Black and Lupin to rescue Ron, and Harry’s similarly quick defence of Hermione, derailed that plan quickly. And Ron’s explanation of the memories Black had shown them all in the Pensieve, and his explanation of how the traitorous Pettigrew had been hiding as _his_ pet rat all along pushed her into confusion as she struggled to find a new focus for her questions, while the children talked a mile a minute. Well, it was mostly Ron and Hermione driving the interview, and Harry somewhat to his surprise barely needed to interject at all. Neville mostly stayed very quiet, and just fidgeted a bit.

Eventually Harry chimed in to take over as the others’ explanations started to run out of steam. “Look,” he said sincerely, “the important thing to focus on is that Sirius deserves a trial. My parents’ betrayer should be brought to justice. If it _is_ Black, then a trial will show that. Everyone deserves a trial, no matter whether they’re pure-blood or Muggle-born.”

“And no matter how obvious their guilt is! You can’t just _assume_ people are guilty!” cried Hermione. “That’s just _wrong_. Everyone deserves their day in court. You can’t send Dementors after someone just because you _think_ they’re a criminal! Would you like it if someone did it to _you_?”

Skeeter blinked, and shook her head. “No, I certainly would not. And how do you _feel_ about this all, Harry?”

Harry assumed his best woebegone face, and said, “I’m really upset about it. I know my parents would have been too. It’s not fair.” A blindingly bright camera flash captured the moment for posterity – the _Prophet’s_ photographer looked pleased with himself.

Harry glanced down at the parchment where an acid green quill was moving on its own to write down how tears were welling up in his emerald-green eyes, and nodded approvingly. That would do. He didn’t like it, but it would do.

“And what do you think of the Ministry’s opinion that Black was behind the breakout at Azkaban?” she said, with a deceptively sweet and sympathetic expression. Usually it helped her interviewees trust and confide in her with honest responses, but Harry in his time had seen too many trustworthy and sweet expressions. They were usually found on the faces of liars.

“I have the greatest respect for Minister Fudge,” he said charmingly, “and I have every confidence in his enthusiasm to see justice done and to uncover the culprits behind not just my parents’ betrayal, but also the attack on Azkaban. A trial for Black will do just that.”

“But the Minister has stated that Sirius Black was behind that attack. Are you willing to publicly disagree with him?” she asked eagerly, glancing briefly at her scribbling quill.

“Oh no! We’re all on the same side here. I like the Minister a great deal, he was a big help in helping me reclaim Potter Cottage. It was sad you know… to see the place my parents died, but it was good that it became properly mine like my parents’ will said. And you know, should despite the evidence we’ve seen,” Harry said, gesturing to his friends, “Black be found to be guilty of it all, then his arrest and trial will uncover the _other_ two behind the attack on Azkaban!”

“So you think it’s possible that Black is guilty after all?”

“No!” said Ron stoutly. “We all saw his Pensieve memories. Well, Neville didn’t.”

Neville shrugged embarrassedly. “I think if he was guilty he would have tried to k-kill Harry,” he said quietly. “He didn’t.”

Skeeter looked thoughtful. “Perhaps there is some evidence he is innocent of his alleged betrayal of the Potters. But he _might_ have recently attacked Azkaban to rescue his werewolf friend.”

“He _has_ a name,” Hermione said frostily. “ _Professor Lupin_.”

“Harry?” Skeeter asked, watching him closely as he frowned. The photographer took another picture.

“It’s… possible I suppose,” he conceded. “I don’t know anything for sure. Isn’t that what a trial is for?” He widened his eyes sadly, looking pleadingly at her. “Don’t I deserve to know the _truth_?”

“Of course you do!” she cooed, patting his arm before pulling him into a hug. He remembered to stay still as she did so and not duck away or struggle.

“I just want to know for sure who betrayed my parents. Don’t I deserve that? If Sirius Black is Kissed, if there’s no trial, I will _never know the truth_!” Harry sniffed sadly.

And that did the trick. As they left, another covert glance at the parchment the enchanted quill had written on showed it writing exactly the kind of thing Harry wanted to see in the paper. Well, from the point of view of results, anyway. He sure hoped Lockhart was right in his advice to turn on the waterworks.

Hermione fussed over him after they left the tea shop. “Are you alright, Harry? You seemed pretty upset in there.”

“Oh! Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” he said uncomfortably. “It just brought some stuff up I guess. But I don’t mind if it’s in the paper.”

“Are you and Neville still going to visit… the other shops as planned?” she asked cagily, with a glance at Ron.

“Yes, I think so. Catch you later, alright?” he said, and waved farewell to her and Ron, heading off down the road with Neville trotting after him.

“Want to get a Butterbeer?” Ron asked her, as they left.

“Darn it,” muttered Harry as they walked along, “I forgot to bribe her.”

Neville’s eyebrows raised. “Hermione? We’re already going to buy books for her.”

Harry laughed. “No, Skeeter!”

“Oh. Did you need to? You really shouldn’t do that unless it’s necessary.”

“Lockhart said I should. Some kind of nice gift for a lady. I was going to pay for their lunch but I forgot. I don’t know if they even ordered anything to eat.” He sighed. He bet a Slytherin wouldn’t have forgotten.

“You could arrange for her to get a bunch of flowers delivered to her desk at work,” suggested Neville. “Ladies love flowers. Some kind of bouquet saying thank you for the lovely interview.”

“Good idea, Nev!”

With some coaching from Neville about which shop to contact and how much money to allow, Harry sent off a quick owl order from the Hogsmeade Post Office – it was only a couple of knuts for the post owl and it’d save him a lengthy trek up the smelly West Tower back at Hogwarts.

The two of them were a little way into sneaking off into the forest headed for Grantown-on-Spey when they heard the snap of a breaking branch behind them and spun around quickly. Harry’s wand was pointed straight at the two boys who’d been following them – Draco and Greg. Neville picked his wand up from the ground with a sigh, having fumbled it when he’d drawn it in a panic.

“I’m going to practise that,” he said with a stubborn set to his jaw.

“What are you two doing here?” asked Harry.

“Just out for a fly,” Draco said, hefting his broomstick as evidence. “Same as you, right?”

“Uh… yes. So… catch you later?”

“I think I’d rather stick with you,” Draco said with a smile. “You’re bound to be up to something fun, sneaking off like this.”

“How long were you following us?” Neville asked suspiciously.

“For ages,” grunted Greg.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Not that long really.”

Greg looked embarrassed. “Right. It _felt_ like ages, but it wasn’t that long.”

“Draco…” Harry said warningly.

“Alright! We _have_ been following you for quite a while,” Draco said exasperatedly. “You really should look around more, especially with enemies on the loose. There is some kind of sneaky adventure going on again – I can tell – and I want in.”

“It’s not that exciting,” Harry demurred.

“ _I’ll_ be the judge of that,” Draco said grandly.

Harry looked to Neville for his opinion. “It really is up to you,” Neville said with a shrug. “Do you think you can trust them?”

He looked thoughtfully at the two, standing there in eager anticipation. They thought he was up to something sneaky and underhanded, and wanted in. That wasn’t the attitude of people who’d dob on him. And Draco had always had his back last year (even when he didn’t want him to). He probably shouldn’t have let Draco eavesdrop on his conversation with Flint, now he thought about it. Draco was a curious sort.

“Okay then,” he said. “I guess you can know, so long as you stay quiet about it. We’re sneaking off to the nearest Muggle town. I have some mail to post and a phonecall to make. And we might have some lunch. So it really isn’t anything too dangerous or exciting, but it _might_ get you in trouble if we’re caught. And you can’t use _any_ magic if you come with us. Are you still in?”

The two looked at each other for a moment, faces a bit sour.

“Where’s Hermione?” Greg asked them after a moment’s thought. “Has she gone ahead?”

“She didn’t want to come,” said Neville. “It’s against the rules – well Harry says there is a technicality we can argue if we’re caught – and she was a bit worried about that. We’re going to buy some Muggle books for her that she wanted, though. She has gone off with Ron to get a Butterbeer so she will probably be at _The Three Broomsticks_.”

Greg shook his head apologetically at Draco. “I don’t want to go. Father wouldn’t approve. Do I have to go?”

“No, you can sit this one out. Go find Vincent or something,” Draco said reassuringly.

“At least you’re wearing trousers today instead of a robe,” Harry said thoughtfully, glancing at Draco’s outfit. He’d have to stash the cloak and the vest, but the shirt and trousers would pass muster.

“I thought it was some secretive Quidditch practice, so I dressed accordingly.”

 _So he **had** planned to follow me all along_ , mused Harry to himself.

“Are you going then? Your father won’t like it either,” warned Greg.

Draco looked uncertainly at Harry.

“It’s no skin off my nose if you don’t come,” Harry said, not particularly bothered. “I’ve got Neville with me, and that’s pretty cool. He’s been in a Muggle city before, so he’ll know how to act, and he’s not at all nervous about it.”

Neville grinned at that, and Draco puffed up with a glare at Neville, looking offended. “I know how to act too! And my father need not ever find out about this!”

Which is how a short while later there were _two_ broomsticks zipping through the trees, with Neville on the back of Harry’s broom, and Draco racing them through the undergrowth, laughing at the fun.

-000-

They stashed their more old-fashioned clothing items and broomsticks in the trees, but Draco worried about what to do with his coin pouch. “I have no desire to leave _everything_ here for Muggles to find. They won’t value my Nimbus 2001 for what it is worth, but even a _Muggle_ knows what gold is.”

“You can put it in my satchel,” offered Harry. “I enchanted it earlier today with a Muggle Distraction Hex. I don’t know if it will work, or how long it will last for, but hopefully it should dissuade anyone from peeking in my bag even if they try in the first place. Which shouldn’t be likely.”

“I suppose that would be a difficult charm to test. Where would you procure a Muggle to experiment on?” Draco mused.

“They’re not _animals_ ,” Harry said stiffly.

“I did not say they _were_ ,” Draco said, bemused by Harry’s sudden anger.

“My family are Muggles!”

“Which is why you will find I am usually polite enough not to draw attention to that unfortunate fact.”

It was a rather uncomfortably quiet trio who headed down the road to Grantown-on-Spey, making a couple of turns until they reached the Square, and the phonebooth that was Harry’s primary goal.

“Does it lead to the Ministry?” Draco asked interestedly, after Harry had finished his worried conversation with his tutor about whether he’d be ready for his exams, and been reassured about his progress in English. “Where does it go?”

“Why would it do that?” asked Neville. “It’s just a Muggle telly-phone.”

“Perhaps _you_ don’t visit the Ministry with your… grandmother, but father takes me sometimes. There’s one of those things in London – it’s a secret entrance to the Ministry. Or exit into Muggle London.”

“It’s just a phone,” said Harry. “It’s just for talking to people. Like sticking your head in a Floo – well, or so I’ve heard. I’ve never tried that myself. It sounds dangerous.”

Neville started explaining to Harry how Floo conversations worked, until Draco shushed him, worriedly citing the Statue of Secrecy and the inherently dangerous nature of Muggles. Draco looked round suspiciously, but the streets were very quiet and few pedestrians were about, and none were within earshot.

With a number of shops closed on Sunday, they settled quickly on lunch at _Maclean’s Bakery and Café_ , which was on The Square not too far from the postbox and phonebooth. Well, Harry and Neville settled on it, while Draco looked suspiciously around at everything from what the cushioned white seats were made of, to the electric lights hanging from the ceiling, to the food. He went in under grumbled protests about mingling with Muggles, that Neville in a reversal of roles tried to exasperatedly shush (Draco wasn’t listening to him, as he insisted that simply using the word ‘Muggle’ didn’t risk anything).

“A large bowl of chips to share, two tarts, and the caramel slice thanks,” Harry said to the rather bored-looking young woman behind the counter, pointing out a couple of strawberry and cream tarts drizzled with strawberry sauce that had caught Neville’s eye, and a delectably gooey chocolate and caramel slice for himself. “I thought you might be closed on Easter Sunday too.”

“This isn’t England, it’s Scotland. Different laws,” the woman said in very brief explanation, ringing up his order.

“Father says that _this_ kind of food is not at all good for you,” Draco said warily, when their plates arrived. “You shouldn’t eat any of it.”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe it’s not the best, but if I didn’t eat during summer I’d starve now, wouldn’t I? A little won’t hurt you either, you know.”

Neville ate his strawberry tart with exaggerated noises of delight, which tempted Draco to try a tiny nibble of his. “It’s not half as good as what I have at home,” he said disparagingly. “The pastry is too heavy and the cream isn’t fresh.” He pushed his plate away dismissively.

“Waste not, want not,” said Harry, helping himself to Draco’s leftovers by sneaking the strawberry tart onto his own plate, provoking a rare sneer in his direction.

“You’re eating garbage now,” he said sharply, mouth screwed up judgementally. “That’s disgusting.”

A couple of people at the next table looked over at them, and the woman murmured something inaudibly to the man, making him frown as he glanced in their direction.

“It’s leftovers. And it’s perfectly good,” Harry responded defensively. You _never_ wasted good food. “Are you going to try the chips? They’re for sharing.”

“ _No_.”

After lunch – that had left only two of them well fed - the trio wandered down High Street. Harry had a mission from Hermione to buy her some particular novels if they were out yet, so they were headed for _The Bookmark_ until Draco’s eye was caught by some figurines displayed in a gift shop window, shoved to one side to make room for an Easter display.

“Look! Dragons!” he said excitedly. “I thought Muggles didn’t believe in dragons!”

“Shh! Don’t use the M word!” said Neville worriedly.

Harry shrugged. “Everyone ‘knows’ they aren’t real, but there’s still stories about them.”

Draco’s nose was almost touching the glass as he gazed avariciously into the window at the tiny pewter dragon figurines snoozing, holding gemstones, and clawing at the air. “I need them. Let’s go into this… _Wishing Well_ shop.”

“They won’t take your ahh, _foreign_ money,” Neville reminded him, making Draco curse unhappily.

“You buy them for me Harry,” he insisted abruptly. “You have Mu- money.”

Harry glanced at the dragons with visible price tags. “I can’t afford all those! Maybe one or two at most, then I’d be broke.”

Draco assumed a sulky, pouty air. “I simply cannot make do with less than three. They never get any new figurines in Diagon Alley. I want those ones,” he said with a demanding whiny note to his voice, pointing out his favourites. “I have to have them for my collection. You may buy them for me as an early birthday present – it’s only two months away.” He looked pleadingly at Harry.

Harry laughed. “I’m not your mum, Draco, so it’s no use pouting at me. I’ll buy you one as an early birthday present if you like, but if you want more you’ll have to pay me back. And I _still_ probably can’t afford more than two because I just didn’t bring that much money – most of that was my Christmas money I should’ve saved to spend on clothes. And I just spent a lot of it on lunch for us all.”

Draco’s distaste of Muggle establishments was temporarily all forgotten as he dragged them in to look at the dragon statues, and was delighted to find a few more dragon-themed items inside.

The round-faced proprietor greeted them cheerfully as they browsed. “Hi, I'm Stewart, how c’n I help you? Last minute Easter gifts? We're open for another thirty minutes, so don't be too long choosing!”

Draco sniffed haughtily at the presumption of familiarity from a Muggle. “I am interested in your dragon collectibles, _sir_. We shall speak to you when we are ready to purchase, and not before,” he said haughtily.

“Draco!” Harry said, aghast. “I’m so sorry, he’s in a bit of a mood.”

The man blinked and stared at them. “Are yer parents around, lads? You three dinnae look familiar,” he said, his Scottish accent growing thicker as he sounded more irritated.

Draco puffed up. “I’ll have you know my father is-”

“-Tourists!” Harry said swiftly, interrupting Draco. “We’re just passing through. Our dads are off playing golf together.” He gave himself a mental pat on the back for his flawless lie.

“And yer mothers are no' aroond either?” the shopkeeper asked with a frown, peering out the door of his shop into the street.

Draco sighed, and lied smoothly, “Having tea. They told us to go explore and stop bothering them.”

“Aye, ah c’n see why,” muttered the man. “Well, let me know if ye decide to buy anything. Remember, ye break it, ye buy it.” He watched them warily from the counter as Draco fussed over the figurines, and eventually selected one that he’d decided looked remarkably similar to a Welsh Green, curled up atop a pile of treasure. Another tiny pewter dragon was clutching a marble in its claws, like it was scrying in a crystal ball.

“You may buy this one for me as my gift,” Draco said grandly, pointing at the green one. “And the second one I shall repay you for anon.”

“Oh _may_ I,” groused Harry, forking over the money to Stewart, who seemed happy to see them leave.

“Did your mother teach you your _excellent_ manners?” said Neville with an amused look at Draco. “We were all _so_ impressed at your display of good breeding in there.”

“Well obviously _your_ mother was unable-” Draco started, before Harry leapt in to interrupt.

“-Early Happy Birthday to you!” he cried loudly, shoving the paper bag with the green dragon in it at Draco, who cut off his insult to Neville mid-sentence.

“I do apologise to you both for my rudeness,” Draco said stiffly. “And thank you very kindly for the gift. It is just what I wanted, and I appreciate your thoughtfulness in purchasing it for me today.”

Harry heaved a sigh of relief. He hated it when his friends fought. And while neither Neville nor Draco talked to each other for the rest of the outing (leaving him stuck uncomfortably in the middle trying to keep the peace), at least it wasn’t a _total_ disaster. At least neither of them had gone for their wands, though it had looked like a close thing for Neville for a moment there. His hand had been twitching.

Harry was happy with the outing, but Draco pronounced it a disaster for his clothes on the way back when it started raining and he was banned from casting any spells to ward off the rain or dry himself off, for fear of discovery. The increasing downpour of rain saw a lot of people scurrying back to Hogwarts, and Flint found Harry to worriedly hand over a slightly damp and cold snake.

“ _He warmed me too much, and then after I hissed crossly at him he didn’t warm me **enough**_ ,” complained Storm. “ _He is ssstupid_.” They all agreed that Harry should stick with the two of them to supervise future snake-tending sessions.

-000-

“Why couldn’t you have explained to me _earlier_ that you wanted me to help you make connections and influence people at this evening’s party?” Pansy hissed irritatedly to Harry as they made their way with Hermione and Draco to the club room that Slughorn had selected as the venue for his Easter party.

“Didn’t I? Sorry. I guessed I planned it all in my head but forgot to tell you about the details…” he trailed off, embarrassed.

“I am perfectly able to assist you,” complained Draco. “There was no really no need to finagle an invitation for Pansy in the first place.”

“I am the _obvious_ choice to assist him in society as his cousin!” she objected. Harry hunched his shoulders and stayed quiet as they argued. Why was everyone arguing this weekend?

“ _I_ am related to him too!” Draco argued.

“But not acknowledged – it’s too distant,” Pansy said smugly, then glanced at Hermione who was listening in with great interest. “And I’m invoking the Slytherin rule.”

Draco instantly subsided with a muttered remark none of them could hear.

“Well I’d be happy for _everyone_ to help me spread the word about Black this evening,” Harry said anxiously. “I asked Pansy because I’m sure she’ll be a great help, and because I haven’t gotten to see her very often this year.”

“Thank you, cousin,” she said, with a smile and a quick sidelong glance at Draco who still looked sulky. “Remember, first thing to do is greet the host and offer your gift-”

“-We were supposed to bring gifts?” Hermione asked, startled.

“Only if you’re trying to curry favour,” Pansy explained.

“Oh, that’s alright then,” Hermione said, relieved.

“Ahem. As I was saying, after greeting the host you then greet any high status guests who are not occupied with conversations, starting with any from Ancient families or who hold influential positions in society.”

“All families are old – everyone’s family goes back millennia,” muttered Hermione rebelliously. Pansy ignored her.

“After that you assist any client family members – make sure they are happy, and furnish them with any social introductions required. Then you’re free to mingle for the rest of the evening. And remember to be discreet about rank – the Headmaster and many of the teachers frown on openly acknowledging such differences.”

“What about Professor Slughorn?”

“Oh, he _loves_ all the old etiquette and is right in the thick of a web of patron and client families. Be subtle about it, but acknowledge that. He’s an excellent choice for a patron.”

“Are you interested in a future as a Potioneer?” Draco asked Hermione. “He’s sponsored Muggle-borns in the past.”

“My mum was in his Slug Club,” volunteered Harry.

“No, I don’t think so,” she mused. “I think I’d rather work in the Ministry on creature and being rights.”

“He is still a potentially useful patron for you,” Draco persisted. “Don’t be too naïve about thinking a Muggle-born with no experience or connections can just waltz into a plum Ministry job. If not Slughorn, you will need to find someone. Make nice to Slughorn, and he can put you in touch with someone appropriate in due course.”

Hermione frowned thoughtfully at that.

The club room was transformed with swathes of cloth drapes of pale green and blue silk, while a harpist played softly soothing music in the background. Toga-clad house-elves circulated amongst the guests with platters of food and glasses of punch and Butterbeer balanced above their heads. Hermione was both immediately concerned about their wellbeing, and excited by the incredibly rare opportunity to talk with Hogwarts’ own house-elves. Professor Slughorn was delighted to be gifted a bottle of honey mead, and in response to Harry’s polite query about whether any adult guests were attending, informed him regretfully that they’d only been invited to the “senior” Slug Club party.

“Perhaps another time, Potter! May I call you Harry, given you’re not in class at the moment? Yes? Marvellous. I’m sorry to disappoint you this evening, but I assure you my more _exclusive_ dinner parties later in the year may have such opportunities!”

Harry was going to launch into talking about Sirius Black, but Pansy moved him along, as other guests were arriving and Slughorn needed to greet them.

“But I was going to-”

“-I know,” she said. “Later. Now, come and greet Zabini – he’s from an Ancient family, remember.”

Pansy took her appointed duty as Harry’s social patron very seriously, and the evening was a whirl of schmoozing and flattery, as Harry talked to various people about his quest to see Black stand trial, and the importance of the presumption of innocence until proven guilty. Somewhat to Pansy’s barely-hidden surprise, he changed his tack depending on whom he was talking to. With Ravenclaws he argued the lack of evidence and importance of proper procedures and finding out the truth. When speaking to Hufflepuffs he appealed to fairness and spoke about the pain of his family’s betrayal by a friend. Pansy wore a very startled look when he first spoke to a Slytherin on the topic - his approach was to talk conspiratorially about Dumbledore’s bribery that had ensured that someone from a pure-blood family with “unpleasant” connections and a poor reputation was sent to Azkaban without a trial.

“It sets a worrying precedent, don’t you think?” he wheedled persuasively.

“Very,” said Zabini with a thoughtful frown.

“I would really appreciate it if you could speak with your mother about the matter. Letters to the editor or a word with people in the Ministry could be ever so helpful,” Harry said, mindful of Pansy’s hissed warning beforehand to not mention the boy’s father, and was pleased to gain a sincere promise of assistance.

“Perfect,” she whispered afterwards, and Harry grinned proudly at her. “If a little surprising. I must admit I had thought you would just talk about justice to everyone and leave it at that.”

“That’s for the Gryffindors,” he whispered back. “And also explaining how you shouldn’t just reflexively act out of fear to sentence a man arbitrarily to the Dementor’s Kiss.”

“It sounds like you planned this!”

“I did a bit. A plan for each of the Houses, with colour-coded notes! Do you think it’s working?”

“I think at least half of them will speak to a relative in the Ministry or tell their parents to owl the _Prophet_ ,” she said reflectively. Her ears pricked up as she overheard a boy boasting loudly to Professor Slughorn about his Uncle Tiberius’ friendship with the Minister.

“That sounds like a useful connection,” she said happily, leading him over to the group. Harry pasted his smile back on. He listened to the brash and boastful McLaggen, but wished he could instead be over with Hermione where she and a couple of people from the H.E.L.P. Society were chatting amiably with a couple of the toga-clad house-elves who’d been working as the party’s waiters. But this was important too. His godfather needed help, and this was apparently the way to get it. He wouldn’t ever be able to forgive himself if he didn’t at least _try_.

Colin Creevey was circulating amongst the guests taking occasional photographs, and Pansy was trying to steer Harry away from talking to “the help” until he explained he’d gotten him the photographer role as Creevey’s unofficial patron.

She snorted a quick laugh. “Alright then, go talk to your Muggle-born client.”

“Just client. You don’t need to specify his birth.”

She shrugged indifferently at his correction.

Creevey was thrilled at his job, and happy that Harry had checked in on him. It wasn’t all easy successes for Harry that evening, however. While some like the Weasley twins were instantly willing to help with a word to their father, other people were less than enamoured with Harry’s stance of presumption of innocence for Black, or were otherwise disinterested in befriending Harry.

“So where are you from, exactly?” Harry asked Cho Chang, around a mouthful of pastry.

She smiled thinly as she said without a trace of accent, “London. And where are you from, Potter?”

“Uh, Surrey?”

“That’s nice.”

She chatted briefly and inconsequentially for a while about Defence classes at Hogwarts before she walked off, leaving Harry bewildered and wondering what he’d done wrong. He could tell he’d offended her somehow, but wasn’t quite sure how.

“What did I say to upset her?” he asked Pansy. “She’s polite enough in Potter Watch.”

“I’m not sure,” she said with a shrug. “Maybe you should’ve asked about her family’s business to flatter her? I’ve heard they’re opening up a new boutique in Brazil. She might’ve been offended you didn’t comment on it – it’s quite the business coup, so father says.”

“Hmm... I’d kind of thought she didn’t want to talk about her relatives, so I avoided talking about family. Next time try and tell me these things _before_ I make a fool of myself.”

“I will do my best!” she promised. “It is what I am here for, after all.”

“Does your father talk about business with you a lot?” he asked curiously.

“Oh yes. Someone will have to take over eventually! I might not be in line for the main Parkinson family fortune, but I _am_ an only child, and father’s business interests and our own family vault will need someone to manage them. Hopefully many, many years from now.”

“Yeah,” sighed Harry, who didn’t have a choice about waiting. At seventeen it would be sink or swim as the Potter vaults would then be his to manage. Hopefully not too disastrously – goblins were tricky beings.

“ _Yes_ ,” corrected Pansy. “Not ‘yeah’. And you can say, ‘may he live as long as Merlin and as wisely’, if you want to be polite. Now, come and talk to Melinda Bobbin. Remember to nod your head in greeting to show you know the courtesies. Straight back while you’re walking, Harry, don’t slouch! The Bobbin family owns a large chain of apothecaries – she could be a useful contact for a Potions Master, or a would-be Healer for that matter.”

“What House is she in?” prompted Harry, who always found it a useful shorthand for knowing how to best manage his approach to someone.

“Hufflepuff. She is older than us, I am not sure by how much, however. Daphne keeps track of the finer details a little better, I must concede. Her memory for faces and names is practically legendary in Slytherin.”

Harry smiled, asked in a friendly manner about Bobbin’s classes and if she enjoyed Potions, and complimented her work ethic in getting such good grades. She got excited talking about a particular potion she’d enjoyed brewing in class, which her aunt had improved with the use of salamander blood instead of the standard newt blood, and Harry was careful to listen attentively and sound impressed. (It _was_ a little interesting, so it wasn’t by any means an arduous task.)

She also worried a little over Storm, who’d been draped around his neck all evening and looking with beady eyes at the goings-on. “He won’t harm anyone will he? I would have thought it wise to leave him in your room, in case he gets upset by the noise and tries to bite someone.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that! He’s a dear friend you know, and he gets awfully lonely stuck in my room all the time. I can talk to him, so I _know_ he suffers. I couldn’t do that to my poor snake! He likes to get out and about, and Professor Slughorn actually invited Storm here this evening. So it would have been rude to our host to leave him in the dorm.”

Her sympathies were won over with that little speech, and Storm after a hissed explanation deigned to stay still to be patted gently on the head, as proof of his friendly nature.

“You should train Storm to do some tricks,” Pansy said thoughtfully, as they moved along to circulate some more. “Like to pretend to kiss someone’s hand by touching it with his snout. And shake his head yes and no. Can he learn words in English?”

“I don’t know,” said Harry with a shrug. “Sometimes I get him to wiggle his tail or hiss or something as a sign he’s trying to communicate something if I’m not with him to translate. I’ll give it some thought, and chat to him about it.”

Professor Slughorn’s approval was, Harry thought, the biggest coup of the evening. He promised to “write at little note to my good friend” and former Slug Club member, Barnabas Cuffe, the editor-in-chief of the _Daily Prophet_.

“He’s always ready to take my owl on the day’s news,” Slughorn boasted without a trace of embarrassment. “And I’ll be watching out for your interview, Harry! Very precocious of you, I must say. Dreadfully mixed up business, with Black.”

“But certainly meriting a trial, don’t you think?”

“Quite right! Such a shame the last one was cancelled. New charges, though! That needs a new trial. Don’t worry, I’ll have a word. It should be quite easy to support a call for a trial again without offending the Minister, Barnabas will see to it.”

Harry shook his hand in fervent gratitude, and his professor looked pleased as punch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops! Only when I wondered about how I didn’t have many reviews today did I realise it’s a Tuesday and I should’ve posted a chapter this morning. Sorry – just a bit tired today. :P  
> BTW, I'm posting a new standalone HP fic on Friday (memory allowing!), if you want to keep an eye out for it.  
> I have quite a few people to thank this chapter. Writing fanfic is a very solitary activity, but online there’s this lovely community of readers, reviewers, and assorted helpers who all contribute in their own ways to help improve my stories. Any faults remain my own. :)  
> I really do love getting reviews and comments, and I treasure all of them – the short thanks, the long praise, the thoughtful musings, and the constructively critical. Thank you, everyone!  
> Who spotted something a little odd about Blishwick’s letter last chapter? If you did, help yourself to a cookie. *offers platter of various cookies to readers*  
> TomorrowsHerald – Thank you! You didn’t inspire anything in particular in this chapter, but who did inspire me to write it. By the time this chapter is posted you may not recall your praise-filled and thoughtful review from back at the start of the year (Jan ‘17), but I assure you at the time it made me sit up and say to myself, “Why yes, I will keep focused and keep working hard on this fic!”  
> Sigfried – Thanks for your suggestion that someone should be offended that Harry never responded to their years of owl mail. Rita was miffed about that, though she didn’t want to talk too much about it.  
> Hellathedeath and 191811110 – Thanks for your thoughts on Harry visiting Grantown-on-Spey. Draco’s making this visit especially memorable for a couple of the locals! *lol*  
> JPElles – Thanks for your thoughts ages ago on how Harry may develop and rethink his approach to the world as being normal… for someone who’s famous.  
> SeamenScotty and JennyBeth98 – Thanks for helping with my Scottish shopkeeper!


	28. A Tangled Web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has a great new plan, which doesn’t go as intended.

**_April 1994_ **

Harry’s article by Rita Skeeter was out in the _Daily Prophet_ on Monday morning. He wanted to hide when he saw all the eyes in the Great Hall watching him so intently as he entered with his friends for breakfast.

“ _The Boy Who Lived’s Tearful Plea for Justice for his Parents!_ ” screamed the headline, and many peeked at Harry to see if he looked as woebegone as he did in his photos in the paper, or stopped by to offer words of comfort or support. Harry stuck it out despite his great embarrassment, and charmed and flattered and played on people’s sympathies as best he could. Dumbledore was still absent from the school, but clearly busy in the political arena, for Skeeter had tracked him down for another quote. The paper was kinder to him than it had been in a while, and quoted him as speaking gravely about “the sad miscarriage of justice in a tumultuous and confusing time that saw a good wizard miss out on the trial he deserved.”

“Excellent,” said Hermione, who read faster than him. “You’ve got the editor on side too, Harry! And a quote from the Minister about how the order for Dementors to Kiss on sight was _never_ renewed – which goes against what we’ve heard doesn’t it? But that’s good news.”

“Anything else of note?”

She hummed thoughtfully as she flipped through the pages. “They’ve told the Prime Minister about it all. Well, told him _something_ , anyway. The escaped Death Eaters’ images are being shared on the news as wanted terrorists.

“And in general the paper is still pushing the point of view that there has to be a ringleader behind the breakout, and no-one believes it was You-Know-Who, despite what the Headmaster is persistently claiming. I’m not sure there’s a lot of support for it being Pettigrew either. But there’s a _lot_ of support for a proper trial for Black, this issue – lots of letters to the editor in the ‘Witches and Wizards Write’ column.”

Harry let out a relieved sigh. All his effort wasn’t for nothing.

-000-

That afternoon it was quite a large crowd of friends who gathered in the library for a study session to work on their holiday homework. Well, it turned out to be more of a gossip session than a homework session in the end, even though that’s not what Hermione and Harry had originally planned – people were more eager to chat to Harry about his interview than focus on their work.

Thankfully it was lacking in intrusive eavesdropping guards, as Harry had finally persuaded Percy to ease off. As well as Neville and Hermione, there was Pansy, Draco, Tracey, and Daphne. Anthony was back at Hogwarts from his holiday at home for Passover and keen to catch up on everything he’d missed, and Creevey had wandered by to chat excitedly to Harry about his photos from the Slug Club party, and had sat himself down in a spare chair and was ignoring the Slytherins’ too-subtle hints to leave.

Draco had a letter to pass on to Harry from his father. Padded out with some empty courtesies, it basically said he wasn’t going to help much right now, which was a shame but perhaps not entirely unexpected.

“ _I regret I am unable to assist you in this matter. Any endorsement on my part of Mr. Black or attempts to cast doubt upon the Ministry’s statement about what happened at Azkaban would no doubt be viewed in a poor light, given aspersions oft cast upon my own past affiliations. Inevitably old false accusations would be dredged up again, and I would rather they were not. In addition to which, there would be additional suspicion of family bias, given my dear Narcissa is a first cousin to Sirius Black. I can, however, assure you that should it come to a vote in the Wizengamot, I shall lend my support in favour of a full trial for your godfather._ ”

Distracting her from any attempt to get her homework done, Daphne was whispering conspiratorially with Hermione. Harry wasn’t sure what it was about, but he did catch a murmur of “Weasley” at some point… but there were so many of them at the school that he didn’t even know for sure who they were talking about.

While Harry was in the middle of assuring Creevey that it was alright with him to sell his Slug Club photos if it was alright with Professor Slughorn, another student wandered shyly up to their table.

“Hello Harry,” said the waifish blonde girl. Harry wondered why she’d stuck her wand behind her ear, but politely didn’t comment on it.

“Hello Luna, nice to see you,” he said politely. “Everyone, this is Miss Luna Lovegood. She’s a second year Ravenclaw who’s in Potter Watch.”

“And the H.E.L.P. Society,” added Hermione.

Anthony nodded approvingly at his introduction, Harry noticed. He also spotted Pansy and Tracey looking to Daphne, whose own approving nod communicated an entirely different message to her friends.

“Hello Lovegood, it’s nice to meet you formally. I’m Pansy Parkinson. Won’t you sit down? Creevey, do hop up and offer a lady a seat like a gentleman, there’s a dear,” she said with a smile, “coincidentally” moving him from his seat next to Harry.

“Oh thank you, if I’m not a bother,” she said with a shy smile.

“No bother at all,” insisted Pansy, as Creevey scrambled to his feet to awkwardly pull the heavy wooden library chair back for Luna and pushed her in, bumping her legs slightly in the process.

“Sorry, so sorry,” he babbled anxiously. “I didn’t mean to hit your legs like that. This is harder than I thought it would be.”

“That’s alright,” she said calmly. “Thank you for giving up your seat for me. It’s very kind of you. Like a present!”

He seemed charmed by that thought, and gave her a tiny bow in farewell (which made the Slytherin girls giggle), before wandering off.

Luna seemed quietly thrilled to be sitting with them. “I just stopped by to let you know I shall give you a copy of _The Quibbler_ when your article comes out. Daddy’s working on it,” she told Harry.

Judging by their stray glances down the table, Harry thought Draco and Pansy were probably gossiping about her, but at least they were keeping it quiet enough that they couldn’t be overheard. Eventually everyone settled down for some actual work, to Harry’s relief. Luna hadn’t come prepared with anything to work on, so she just kind of sat there contentedly humming a song quietly to herself and kicking her feet, until Hermione took pity on her and led her off into the stacks in search of a book to bring back to the table to read.

“I like her,” she pronounced confidentially to Harry and Neville later, after the group had dispersed. “She has some strange ideas about magical creatures, but I think she’s rather lonely. I can sympathise with that.”

“How about you, Neville?” Harry asked. “Any objections to her joining us again? I kind of told her she could, sometimes, if she saw us studying.”

Neville looked thoughtful. “I have heard she’s kind of strange. Touched in the head by the loss of her mother, or driven mad by Seer powers gone wrong. Some people say she shouldn’t be at Hogwarts at all. So I _definitely_ think she should join us.”

So that was that. For all her quirks, Harry found that Luna was one of the easiest people yet to integrate into his group of friends. Neville and Hermione both empathised with her, and the Slytherins approved of her pure-blood lineage.

-000-

Other people found the last few days of the Easter holidays a relaxing time, but for Harry it was a whirlwind of networking, letter writing, and frantic work on his Muggle subjects to get ahead before Hogwarts classes started up again. Neville was demanding some extra help from Harry with duelling practice, in a self-effacing “if I’m not a bother” kind of way, and Flint was taking up an hour a day asking him to supervise him looking after Storm and badgering Harry for facts about Wonambi he could include in his talk. Thankfully, he’d agreed that a week’s worth of concentrated study should probably be enough, and after this he’d only check in once a week.

Harry’s correspondence continued to be a burden, if a necessary one for the time being. Even his friends were feeling the impact. Ron was kind of pleased to have gotten a few letters from family members and concerned strangers enquiring after his health. Neville had a letter from his Gran that he didn’t want to talk about, but which had left him downcast. Black had written to Hermione to apologise that he’d returned the Time-Turner to Professor McGonagall (or “Minnie” as he called her), and that their professor was quite grumpy about it all and the criticism she’d copped from the Ministry over it, and sadly wouldn’t be lending it out to students again for the foreseeable future.

Sirius was writing to “Harry” regularly, overjoyed at Harry’s public support of him, and eagerly insistent on being on a first name basis. He shared lots of gossip about the Azkaban escape and what Lupin was up to that Harry thought he really probably should keep confidential. But it was such _interesting_ gossip that Harry didn’t really want to point that out. Some things he kept to himself, like that Lupin was terrified of handing himself in even for a trial as he was sure he’d be executed, and would in fact prefer that to being thrown in Azkaban again where he’d passed a truly horrific full moon in werewolf form, being tormented by Dementors. Other things he shared with Neville and Hermione, like the fact that Quirrell was under strong suspicion of being one of the wizards who’d attacked Azkaban, due to the surviving guard overhearing a fragment of stuttering. He also passed on that Madam Bones was sure that Pettigrew was involved in the attack but the Minister remained unconvinced and still regarded Sirius as the ringleader. The identity of the third man remained unconfirmed, except of course that the other two had referred to him as “my Lord” which Dumbledore apparently regarded as being a dire sign indeed.

Some of the content of Sirius’ near-daily letters was pure getting-to-know-you gossip. Harry confirmed that Sirius _had_ sent the scarlet coat and trousers as a Christmas gift, since he was surprised by Harry’s thanks about the boots, speculating that perhaps the store had included them as a bonus gift as he hadn’t ordered any. And Harry tentatively shared little details of his life like his favourite classes, and how Pansy had given him his pet snake the previous year. Sirius was fascinated to hear about the family connection to the Parkinsons via his mother, and gossiped about how he and James were first cousins once removed, which meant he and Harry were second cousins. Sirius wrote he had liked counting James as a family member – one who didn’t look down on him for being sorted into Gryffindor.

Lockhart had sent him a letter full of self-congratulatory praise for Harry taking his advice in regards to talking with the _Daily Prophet_ , and his advice that his story would “sell better” with a more obvious villain as Pettigrew just wasn’t cutting it for the populace who were used to thinking of him as a heroic martyr, and no-one believed Dumbledore’s dire warnings about You-Know-Who. He also sent an advance copy of _Battles with the Basilisk_ , which was no doubt full of overblown heroism and packed full of lies. Harry had embarrassedly shoved it in the bottom of his trunk beneath a pile of other books and old clothes, promising himself he’d read it later when he had more time.

Harry snuck away to visit Ambrosius one evening – his explanation he was doing “private study” being easily accepted by Neville and Hermione as the routine occurrence it had been for years. But it didn’t go well. At first things were fine, as he updated the ever-curious wizard on the goings-on in the world, and what was happening with Sirius Black. But when he checked with him exactly how to awaken Custos, so he could access the tunnel in her chamber that led to the Forbidden Forest, things went a bit sour.

“I believe ‘Speak to me, Slytherin’ is the password to open up the enchanted chamber,” Ambrosius said, “possibly in Parseltongue, but I’m not sure about that. And why do you want to go there? The tunnel in question isn’t particularly safe with the enchantments on it, and isn’t the forest rather dangerous these days?”

“Oh, I’m going to try and retrieve Riddle’s diary – I had it hidden out there. I’m worried someone might have taken it and gotten possessed – maybe Pettigrew. And if not, I need it for evidence to help Sirius. Now the Dementors are gone, I can finally go and retrieve it more safely.”

“Tom Riddle’s enchanted diary,” said Ambrosius, sounding unimpressed.

“Yes?” Harry said uncertainly.

“That you had a house-elf discard in the wine-dark sea to be destroyed by the salt water.”

 _Oops_ , thought Harry. He’d forgotten he’d lied to Ambrosius about that, back when they’d first been getting acquainted.

“Sorry? I didn’t-”

“-Didn’t remember to keep your story straight. I would comment on how you should have been in Slytherin, but I understand his House usually has members with more _cunning_ than that,” Ambrosius said curtly, sounding distinctly offended.

“I really _am_ sorry,” Harry pleaded, and eventually was granted forgiveness.

“I suppose I lied to you too, at the start,” Ambrosius – _Merlin_ – admitted with a sigh. “Visit again soon, won’t you?”

Dismissed and entreated to come back again in the one short sentence! But Harry promised he would return. He liked the old wizard, and his stories.

-000-

It took a couple of days to sneak out of Hogwarts to the Forbidden Forest. The Weasley twins as Gryffindor’s resident experts in the out-of-bounds had been bribed with two Galleons and a vial of fairy wings to draw him a rough map of prominent features in the forest, and no questions asked. They didn’t stick to the latter part of the deal, but they coped with Harry’s evasive answers, and as far as Harry could tell they hadn’t gossiped to anyone about his planned expedition, which was good enough for him. Neville was going to cover for his absence if need arose. Harry didn’t think it would – everyone was pretty used to him going off on his own to study.  While Sirius still had his invisibility cloak, Harry did have his Nimbus 2000 to help him zip through the trees, which had him feeling pretty confident.

Hermione still wasn’t in the know about the survival of the diary. She was still all dewy-eyed about the heroic Lockhart, and Harry had never quite steeled himself to disabusing her of her faith in their former professor. Or in Harry’s own Gryffindorish bravery and honesty. He didn’t want her to hate him for lying, and the longer it went on the worse it felt it would be to admit the truth. So Harry only talked it over with Neville. His friend proved very stubborn in insisting he wanted to come along and help. However, this posed a bit of a problem for Harry, who wanted to sneak out via the still-theoretically-sealed-up Chamber of Secrets – that was his secret alone. Not to mention his worry about whether Custos would be happy with someone in his secret lair who wasn’t a Parselmouth. He hadn’t forgotten how the snake statues had attacked Millicent.

Harry admitted to himself that he _might_ have a little bit of an issue with keeping too many secrets. It made his life very complicated, on occasion. But what people didn’t know, they couldn’t hurt you with, and couldn’t take away from you. Sometimes he thought the Sorting Hat had been right – that he _would_ have done better in Slytherin, where guile was not just expected but valued.

Eventually Neville caved in the face of Harry’s own persistent stubbornness, but it had taken a lot of effort to talk him around to not insisting on coming on Harry’s adventure into the Forbidden Forest. Harry promised he would be extra careful, and would send his Patronus to alert him by dancing around if he ran into serious trouble and needed Neville to fetch help again.

“Don’t forget to call for help if you see any Death Eaters. Or really, any wizard or witch at all who isn’t a teacher,” worried Neville. “No-one should be in the Forest, after all. And the next time you do something unimaginably dangerous, you have to swear to invite me along. Remember, I still owe you a life debt.”

Harry promised. He liked to think that this would be the last unimaginably dangerous thing he ever did, but judging by his experiences so far at Hogwarts, it probably wouldn’t be.

Harry left on a cloudy Friday afternoon, while most students were staying indoors. Getting out to the forest via Custos’ prey-luring enchanted tunnel was a more terrifying experience than Harry had anticipated.

The Basilisk herself was a sweetheart. She was happy to have been woken up, delighted to see him again (though disappointed Storm wasn’t with him), and most amenable to sharing her tunnel with him. Before they entered Custos warned him to cover his head, not just close his eyes, so Harry improvised a blindfold for himself out of a hastily enlarged handkerchief. The tunnel itself wasn’t a major issue either - the problem was the ancient enchantments that still lay upon it.

“ _You may ride on my back down the tunnel if you wish_ , _Heir_ ,” hissed Custos obligingly. Harry thought that sounded _awesome_ , and only wished someone could see it. Including himself.

As they went down the tunnel, Harry had the strangest urge to hop off Custos’ back and walk up to her mouth – he felt his way blindly along her smooth, cool side until he reached her snout, patting her head gently. There were some depressions above her jawline the size of saucers, like dimples in the scales. Eventually Harry slowly realised they must be her nostrils, and heat pits for sensing warmth around her.

“ _No, little sssnack, don’t just stand there. And keep your blindfold on. You want to go to the forest, remember_?” the Basilisk hissed in amusement.

“ _Oh right_ ,” hissed Harry, rather befuddled. He climbed back on top of her body and secured himself there again with a Sticking Charm (there wasn’t really much to hold onto, on an enormous snake, and she was too large to straddle like a horse). It happened twice more before they reached the end of the rather long stone tunnel – Harry cancelled his Sticking Charm and dazedly walked right up to her snout, standing there right in front of her.

“ _Do you want me to devour you, Harold?_ ” she asked curiously, lifting her head gently away from him. “ _Doesn’t that thought ssscare you?_ ”

“ _I’ll just wait here in front of you_ ,” he said in a patient daze.

She nudged his body gently with her snout, almost knocking him over. “ _Return to my back, Harold._ ”

“ _Alright,_ ” he said obediently.

“ _I alwayss did wonder how that ssspell worked_ ,” she mused out loud. “ _I don’t usually talk to my prey_.” Harry didn’t find her statements alarming – everything felt safe and wonderful. He was so happy to be close to her.

Eventually they reached the end of the long tunnel, as a steep slope brought them to the surface. Custos hissed a command to open, and with a noise of grinding stone Harry guessed some kind of door had been opened. As Custos slid a little further, Harry could feel fresh air on his skin, and heard the wind in the trees, and the noises of birds in the trees in the distance. There was also the sound of abruptly cut off musical chirps of birds around them going suddenly silent. Harry got off Custos again and thanked her politely. Then he blindly tried to walk back in the direction of the tunnel.

“No,” Custos said firmly, nudging him again. “ _That way. Walk that way. Tell me when you feel no desire to return, and then I shall leave you. And only then may you open your eyess_.”

Harry staggered away through the forest obediently, hands outstretched blindly in front of him, pushing though bushes and occasionally bumping into trees.

Eventually he stopped, horrified at what he’d been doing as the artificial calm drained away. He’d been trying to feed himself to Custos!

“ _Merlin guard me, that was horrible_ ,” he hissed unhappily. “ _I think I’m out of the enchantment!_ ”

“ _Do you feel better now?_ ” Custos hissed loudly from somewhere behind him.

“ _Yess! But I think I’ll find a different way to return. That was rather ssscary!_ ” he replied.

The Basilisk obligingly departed to return to her hibernation, and with a noise of stone scraping on the ground a boulder moved into position to hide the secret tunnel into the earth. Harry removed his blindfold and tried to orient himself, hopping on his broomstick and digging the Weasley twins’ hand-drawn map out of his satchel. They’d been surprisingly humble about it, saying it wasn’t very good, but Harry was just happy to have something to guide him in the right direction. From here on, he’d be trying to manage without casting any spells in case the teachers could detect spellcasting in the out-of-bounds woodland – the twins strongly suspected that Dumbledore at least could do so.

Harry carefully flew up to peek _just_ above the forest’s canopy so he could see in which direction Hogwarts and its outbuildings lay, and jotted down his position on the map with a little asterisk.

“If the Quidditch pitch is _that_ way in front of me to the north-east, and Hogwarts is to my right which must be east judging by the sun, then I must need to head south past the Hippogriff pasture if I don’t want to run into the centaurs’ territory,” he concluded, tucking his map away. “This part at least should be easy.”

Two hours later, looking thoroughly bedraggled with leaves in his hair and a torn robe, Harry rocketed into a small clearing containing a large pointed oval shaped menhir. With a muffled scream, he frantically dismounted his broom and pulled thick cobwebs off his face, pulling off his black robe and shaking it out in violent panic. Two plump little black spiders with bodies the size of pigeon eggs fell off, which he stomped on frantically until their carapaces cracked and they died with a squelch.

“Never, never again,” he vowed to himself, continuing his odd shuddering dance as he brushed off his skin and underwear, just in case any spiders had snuck inside his robe, and wiping the last cobwebs off his face. “Curious Thestrals, hungry baby Acromantulas, skittish wolves – they were the _friendliest_ – and a swarm of angry territorial fairies that bite or stab intruders with thorns if you fly over their mushroom ring. No, no, no – I’m not coming back on my own again. Not until I’m legal to use my wand anywhere I want to, at least. This had better be the right bloody menhir _this_ time, I swear to Merlin. May he lecture me for hours about how wizards worked so much harder back in his day for their spells if I break my vow!”

Reassured that his robe was spider-free, he pulled it back on hastily. Glad he’d come at least somewhat prepared for trouble, he rummaged in the main compartment of his leather satchel through his collection of potions and balms, arm buried in it up to the elbow due to the charmed interior with expanded space. He muttered to himself while occasionally glancing at the treeline warily, having learnt to keep one eye out for trouble at all times while in the Forbidden Forest. “Pepperup Potion, Shrinking Solution, Burn-healing Paste, Wideye Potion… ah! Essence of Dittany.” He fished the vial out and hiked up his robe to expose a number of tiny pinprick wounds dotted redly on his skin. Two thorns remained embedded in his flesh, and he pulled them out gingerly with a tiny pained hiss. Emptying the vial of dittany carefully over both legs, greenish smoke billowed up as the potion bubbled over his skin. When it cleared, Harry saw that the bleeding had stopped and new skin had grown over his tiny cuts, leaving his legs looking like they’d never been injured. Superb. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for excellent brewing. When you couldn’t use spells, potions were _very_ handy.

Tucking the empty vial away and tiredly hopping back on his broom, he ignored the menhir (despite the interesting-looking Old Futhark runes carved around its base) to circle the edge of the clearing looking for a large oak tree, with a big boulder next to it with a chip missing.

“I… found… it!” he said in slow triumph as he spotted the match of rock and tree he was looking for, getting his swatch of silk out of his satchel in readiness to wrap up the diary. “It’s… oh. It’s gone” There was a shallow hole in the dirt at the side of the boulder, with soil and stones spilled to one side in a careless heap.

 _All that for nothing_ , he thought resignedly. _Well, at least I know for sure that it’s gone. Probably. I’d better have a little dig just to be a hundred per cent sure._

With a fallen branch as an improvised shovel, he dug around a little in the loose dirt. He found only a couple of stray turquoise silk threads to show that the cape-wrapped diary had _once_ been buried there… but wasn’t any longer.

He sighed. “Well, I did think it might have been taken,” he mused aloud.

“Indeed it has been,” agreed a deep bass voice, startling Harry greatly since he hadn’t expected a response. He spun around in panic, fumbling for his wand and mentally cursing himself for inattention and for leaving his broomstick out of arm’s reach (he hadn’t wanted to get dirt on it).

He found himself pointing his wand at a red-haired centaur, who swiftly twisted his torso to one side as he pulled back the bowstring of a recurved bow, notching an arrow pointed straight at Harry. Harry froze.

“Sorry,” he said very cautiously. “I thought you might be a Death Eater.”

“I am not,” the centaur said with rather unnerving calm, bowstring taut and ready to shoot him. At this range the arrow would probably punch straight through him before he could blink, let alone cast a Shield spell.

“I’m going to put my wand away now,” Harry said, carefully polite. “And you could lower your bow?”

“Agreed,” the centaur said, eyes fixed on him and bow still ready. “I would prefer not to harm a foal, so I shall not attack unless you do.”

Trust. He could do this. He lowered his wand slowly, and put it away in his pocket, spreading his empty hands to show he was now unarmed. The centaur lowered his bow too, much to Harry’s relief.

“I didn’t mean to stray into your territory,” Harry said, with an apologetic bow. “I thought it was further to the south-east.”

The centaur nodded understandingly, as he returned his arrow to the quiver strung across his bare chest. Harry noticed that the reddish hair on his head was matched by his chestnut horse’s body and a reddish horse’s tail. Apart from the quiver, he wasn’t wearing anything on his muscular torso, unless you counted a couple of necklaces, and bracers on his forearms. His face looked quite human, except for pointed ears and a flattened nose that reminded Harry faintly of a horse’s muzzle.

“That is where our herd prefers to rest, but all of the forest is our territory, aside from some areas claimed by the Acromantulas, and the Forest Trolls.”

“I didn’t mean any trouble,” Harry said cautiously. “I was just looking for something that was hidden here. A wizard thing. Not anything belonging to the centaurs.”

“I know. It is gone.”

“You… know?”

“Yes, young foal. There is little that happens in the forest that the centaurs do not know. Our eyes are bright, and our ears are sharp. And the stars speak to those who listen to their voice.”

“My name’s Harry Potter?” he said cautiously, not very keen to be simply referred to as a “foal”.

“That I know also – you are marked by the sun for all to see. The shield of the clouds. My name is Ronan.”

“And ‘shining ray and destroyer of ice’,” agreed Harry, touching his lightning bolt scar as he quoted more of the Icelandic rune poem for Sowilō that Ronan seemed to have in mind. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ronan. If I may ask, do you know what happened to… the thing that was hidden here wrapped in silk?”

“Magorian, the leader of our herd, set us to watch this clearing from time to time. The Lemures were drawn to it. It was a troubling occurrence that they ventured so far into our woods, yet on the other hand it was a reassurance that those dark spirits were more interested in an empty clearing than in attempting to prey upon our kind.

“One morning Bane came out to check on the area, and found the Lemures gone, and the ground disturbed as you see now. And then only a few days ago those dark spirits departed our forest for good. Magorian knew they would, for we saw in the stars that Jupiter is moving into the ninth house.”

“What does that mean?” Harry asked cautiously, having never studied Astrology.

“The ninth house is the house of destiny, and Jupiter is the ruler. This time brings success to those born under the sun sign of Capricorn, and an increase in respect.”

Harry wasn’t quite sure that really explained anything, but decided to try and go with the flow and chat about astrology. “I was born at the end of July?” Harry ventured uncertainly. “Is it a good time for me?”

“Your zodiac sign would be that of Leo, the lion. Fitting, is it not? For I have heard from Rubeus that you are in the House of Gryffindor. The strongest influence of bright Jupiter for Leo lies in its movement into the second house, which brings wealth, and fame. It is also an excellent time for artistic and literary endeavours. Most propitious for you.”

Harry perked up happily. “That sounds good. Thank you for explaining.”

“Instruction of the young is a duty and a pleasure,” the chestnut centaur said patiently, “though not all would approve of instructing the foals of wizards. I would argue it was once the foundation of a great alliance between our peoples. But come, Harry. You should leave this forest, for what you sought is out of your reach, and there are many dangers here for young foals on their own – you should leave our lands that are forbidden to you, and return to your herd. I shall escort you to the fringe of the woods.”

“That would be most kind of you sir, if it’s not a bother,” Harry said gratefully, summoning his broom to his hand with a quick command, and hopping on it so it hovered close to the ground.

He chatted quietly with Ronan as he flew alongside him as the centaur trotted through the trees. The centaurs either had no idea who’d taken the diary, or Ronan wasn’t personally willing to say. In fact, Ronan didn’t even know what had been hidden there. None of them had ventured into the clearing until after the diary was gone (“some moons ago”), because of something about Scorpio, and a dark moon. Harry couldn’t puzzle out the full significance of what Ronan was saying, but clearly the centaurs had decided it would be dangerous or unlucky, and had avoided the clearing until a few months ago, apart from keeping watch from a safe distance. He wouldn’t promise not to say anything about Harry’s visit to the forest, and made vague murmurs about the stars and lofty Saturn’s noble goals but melancholic humour. Harry couldn’t tell if he was being praised or insulted. He was definitely confused – it seemed like every second sentence contained a reference to astrology.

Moving at a fairly slow pace and only taking a few detours to circle away from areas Ronan judged to be “dangerous for a foal”, it took over an hour to reach the fringe of the forest. It was at least much faster time than he’d made on the way in – not getting lost or attacked was helping there a lot.

“Thank you for helping me,” Harry said politely to the centaur, “can I offer you anything in repayment?”

“My people have no need for wizard coins,” said Ronan, looking disinterested… but he didn’t leave. Harry thought maybe he knew this game – the centaur wanted a new offer.

Harry rummaged in his bag and offered some medicines (“We craft our own”), and coloured ink or parchment (“I have no need of that”).

“There’s not much else left in there,” he said uncertainly, “unless you’d like to share my lunch?”

“That sounds… interesting,” Ronan said curiously, eventually accepting two apples and a buttered breadroll.

He trotted off happily after that, leaving Harry to cautiously float out of the forest and towards the Quidditch pitch that lay near the north-eastern edge of the Forbidden Forest. Unluckily for him, despite his best efforts at stealthy flying he was spotted on the way out of the trees.

“You there! Stop!” called a young man’s voice commandingly, and Harry didn’t even hesitate as he nipped behind one of the spectator stands to hide.

“I saw you come out of the forest,” the boy called out, “and that’s fifty points! And you’ll be losing double the points for your House if you don’t come out right now!”

Harry peeked around the side of the stand and let out a muffled groan. It was Cedric Diggory. No way could he cut a deal with an upstanding Hufflepuff prefect, and if he tried to zip away he’d be recognised.

Diggory seemed to be talking more quietly with someone, as Harry hid and gritted his teeth in fierce concentration, trying to change his appearance. He tried his glamour spell first – but it fizzled. He couldn’t remember the incantation he’d made up, and cursed himself for not practicing it. When it came to using his Metamorphmagus powers he was rubbish at doing it quickly, but he had to try, and hope there was enough time.

He darted right underneath the Quidditch stand, and stayed there for a few minutes in determined focus on changing his appearance, while a couple of people prowled around outside. Eventually they spotted him.

“I see you underneath the Ravenclaw stand!” cried a woman. “Come out slowly, and you’d better not be holding a wand!”

Harry emerged from behind a post. Now he had sandy brown curly hair, and _hopefully_ blue eyes as well. He hadn’t been able to change his nose, and he hadn’t wanted to risk being heard casting a spell just to change his glasses, so he’d simply taken them off and put them in a pocket. If his eyes hadn’t changed colour, at least with no glasses he’d hopefully be less recognisable.

“Sorry, I’m coming out,” he called, pitching his voice slightly higher than usual, emerging slowly and carefully with his hands in the air.

The witch waiting for him he vaguely recognised (despite his poor vision) from her distinctive half short, half long hairstyle. He’d seen her at the staff table at meal times – it was Professor Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher. Diggory was standing a few paces behind her, wand pointed determinedly in his direction.

“Wand on the ground,” she ordered. “Slowly!”

Harry complied very carefully, putting his broom down and then taking out his wand from his pocket to join it. “I’m sorry I went just a _little_ into the Forest – I didn’t go far, I was just flying around some trees, you see?”

“That’s a lie, Professor,” said Diggory firmly. “I saw him fly straight out. I’ve been on the pitch all afternoon and I haven’t seen him around at all.”

“I didn’t say I’d been flying around the Quidditch pitch,” hedged Harry, as Professor Burbage summoned his wand and broomstick to her with a muttered _Accio_.

She touched her wand to his, and while continuing to keep a wary eye on him, muttered, “ _Prior Incantato_.” A bead of gold light touched his wand, and a gout of grey smoke came out of it, forming the shape of a nail.

“A… Sticking Charm?” she said puzzledly. “Well, that hardly seems like the choice of a Death Eater in disguise.”

“I’m certainly not! I’m just a student!” Harry cried indignantly, trying to sound a little more shrill than usual so Diggory wouldn’t recognise him.

“A student who was most decidedly out of bounds,” she retorted sternly, “who also caused unnecessary alarm. Your name and House, young man.”

“Umm… Black. Antares Black. I’m in Slytherin. Second year.” As she only taught students in third year and up, he was confident he’d get away with this. It wouldn’t work on Flitwick or McGonagall, but the teachers who took electives didn’t tend to know the younger students at all.

“Fifty points from Slytherin, Black!” she said, with a disapproving frown. “And twenty points to Hufflepuff for your courage and attention to duty, Diggory.”

“Well, I’m terribly sorry for the fuss. And I’ll just be on my way then, if I could have my things back, please?” Harry asked, with his most charming smile. But it wasn’t going to be that easy for him. Diggory got to leave, but Harry was ordered to march inside the castle, while she kept hold of his wand and broomstick. He was being taken to see his ‘Head of House’, and all his pleading and apologies were to no avail – it only lost him ten more points from Slytherin.

-000-

“I really do need to go to the bathroom,” Harry pleaded in a last-minute lie.

“Ow!” Harry cried, as Burbage took a firm grip on one of his ears.

“None of that nonsense, Black. If it’s even true I’m sure you can hold on.”      

She knocked on Snape’s office door, which he answered, looking more dour and forbidding than ever in his plain black robes, to Harry’s nervous eye that only saw him blurrily.

“I’ve caught one of your Slytherins returning from some jaunt into the Forbidden Forest, Severus. He tried to weasel out of it, but the Hufflepuff prefect saw him clear as day. And I know a liar when I hear one. I trust you’ll give him a hard detention for venturing into the forest, _and_ trying to hide when caught, _and_ attempting to talk his way out of punishment. Why, we thought for a moment there might be a Death Eater trying to sneak into Hogwarts! It took a year off my lifeline, I swear.”

Snape looked at Harry’s transformed profile, with his curly light brown hair hiding his trademark scar, and his blue-green eyes. Even without his usual glasses, his face was quite recognisable to someone who was suspicious by nature.

“Have you now,” he said sceptically. “And what did he say his name was?”

“Antares Black. Don’t you know him? Isn’t he in Slytherin after all?” She scowled warningly at Harry.

Harry slumped dejectedly where he stood, with a hangdog expression. He was _so_ busted. He was going to lose a million points.

Snape’s lips thinned in amusement. Now he knew for _certain_ who this really was. “Oh, I know young Mr. Black well. And he is most definitely a Slytherin to the bone. I understand he gives Professor Binns a world of trouble, however, he is quite _adequate_ and well-behaved in my Potions class.”

“Well don’t let him off easy because of that, Severus! We can’t have students gallivanting around off into the Forbidden Forest on a whim, doing Merlin knows what!”

“A most foolish endeavour for him to undertake. Rest assured I shall deal with this miscreant appropriately,” he responded in a grave tone of voice. “We shall have a talk about the matter, and he shall not be repeating his error.”

“He swore he needed to collect his bag from the library, even though he already has one. Then it was that he would miss out on dinner, and then that he already had a detention from you for Saturday and wouldn’t that be good enough? And then he needed a trip to the toilet.  Don’t let him weasel out of this,” she said warningly.

“I shall _not_ , Charity. Leave him with me,” Snape said, sounding a little exasperated, but not angry.

“Thank you, Severus.”

“No, thank you for bringing this matter to my attention,” he said politely.

She handed Harry’s belongings to Snape, who pocketed Harry’s wand and put the broomstick on his desk. Closing the door behind the departing teacher, he sat down at his desk and looked at Harry with a thin smile.

“Well, well. Mr. _Black_. In trouble again. And how many points did you lose from Slytherin this time?”

Harry hung his head. “Sixty.”

“Sixty points to Slytherin for a temporarily successful disguise, then,” Snape said with a lazy drawl, and he pointed his wand at Harry who ducked away reflexively.

“ _Finite!_ ” he cast, and a red light hit Harry despite his attempt at dodging.

“Hmm,” he said, as Harry’s hair remained curly. “And why exactly are you dodging, Potter? I am not trying to harm you.”

“You _might_ have been,” Harry said nervously. “You _are_ the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher now.”

“Ah yes, your superstition. Well I shall do my best to break the chain, Potter. And twenty points from Gryffindor for attempting to avoid my spell.”

“Sorry, sir,” Harry said in polite (if not entirely truthful) apology.

“A potion, then?” Snape mused, stalking towards Harry and circling around him. Harry’s shoulders hunched as Snape moved around behind him, but thankfully he returned to his desk afterwards.

“I really couldn’t say,” Harry said vaguely. “And for the record, I wasn’t _in_ the forest, just at the edge of it. Looking for potions components, and having a fly. That’s all.”

“And what components did you find?” Snape said, steepling his fingers.

“Uh, none. I was hoping to find some unicorn hair, but I didn’t have any luck. But I _did_ have a nice fly.”

“There is dirt on the back of your robe. And it is torn.”

“I fell off my broomstick.”

“Another ten points from Gryffindor for alleged clumsiness. And another ten for lying to a teacher.”

Harry’s mouth snapped shut, cutting off another attempt to talk his way out of this. They stood there in silence for a moment, before Snape tried another spell on him.

“Stay still for this spell Potter, for it shan’t harm you. _Finite incantatem_.” The stronger red light hit Harry, again to no effect. “Well then. Definitely a potion, I would say. An hour should do it.”

“Sir?”

“An hour is the usual maximum duration of any potion that changes one’s appearance. You can scrub cauldrons for the next hour, or tell me what you were _really_ doing in the forest.”

“…Cauldrons,” said Harry, after a moment’s hesitation. He couldn’t think of a lie he thought would be convincing enough for Snape.

Marched into a potions classroom next to Snape’s office, he did at least get to have his wand and broomstick handed back, which was a reassurance. He hadn’t realised how vulnerable he felt without a wand at hand.

As he scrubbed crusted bits of old potion off cauldrons (and avoided all eye contact), Snape continued to persistently quiz him, trying to coax details out of him. And occasionally taking more points of Gryffindor. Harry strongly suspected he was going to keep going until he hit sixty points.

“Are there any dead animals I shall need to remove evidence of?”

“What?”

“Offerings. At any menhirs or circles.”

“No, sir.”

Snape glared warningly. “Don’t lie to me if there are – omitting that information could endanger more than just yourself.”

“No offerings, I promise,” he said sincerely. Now he kind of wished he _had_ made some kind of offering. Tossing half a corned beef sandwich behind you in the air in an optimistic attempt at appeasing or distracting angry fairies as you flew away from them at top speed probably didn’t count. It certainly hadn’t felt very spiritual at the time.

“I hope no-one was hurt on this little jaunt of yours,” Snape said, oozing concern.

“It was just me, sir,” Harry said stiffly, chipping away at a chunk of something disgusting on the inside of a cauldron with a copper scraper. He thought there was hair stuck in it. Eww.

“And were you hurt?”

Harry risked a quick glance. As far his blurry eyes could tell, Snape _looked_ concerned. “Nothing serious. Thanks for asking.”

“And who did you meet in the forest? Black?”

Harry startled at that. “No, sir.”

“You are keen to defend him. And it is plausible he might try and meet you…” Snape trailed off as he heard approaching footsteps, and a knock at the classroom door. “Yes?”

Flint entered. “Sorry to disturb you, sir. But Selwyn and Hopkirk are duelling in the Common Room.”

Snape sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Again? What is it this time?”

Flint glanced warily at Harry’s unfamiliar face, but explained matters obediently to Professor Snape. “Hopkirk caught Selwyn ‘studying’ in the library with his fiancé. No chaperone. It’s pretty serious, Professor. He has called for a blood duel. They are still choosing seconds, so you have a little time, but not much.”

“Merlin spare me the idiocies of youth,” muttered Snape. “Flint, you stay here and watch this boy. He’s serving a detention, and should scrub cauldrons and _keep his mouth shut_. I will be back as soon as I can.”

Flint bowed. “Yes, sir.”

Snape rushed off, leaving Flint to settle down at his desk to supervise Harry, who kept his head down and focused on scrubbing cauldrons.

“And who are you, then? What did you do?” Flint asked.

Harry scrubbed silently.

Flint scowled, and cast a Stinging Hex at Harry, making him straighten up and yelp with pain. “I asked you a question, boy.”

“Black. Antares Black. I’m in… Ravenclaw,” Harry said, in the piping tones of a younger boy. “Second year.”

“Pure-blood?”

“Yes, sir.” The deference seemed to please Flint, who smiled at him. He thought. He couldn’t see that well with his glasses off. Harry ducked his head nervously and scrubbed harder at the outside of the cauldron. People rarely bothered cleaning the outside of the cauldrons, so they got pretty bad as layers of soot and grime built up.

“And what were you doing to get in trouble with Professor Snape?”

Maybe appealing to a shared interest would soften him a bit more. “Visiting a spot in the forest. I was… making an offering. Wine. I didn’t expect I’d be caught coming back.”

“No-one ever does. You’ll have to do better than that, in future! Black, wasn’t it?” Flint asked.

“Yes, that’s right.” Harry glanced through his hair at Flint, wishing he could see his expression better. He’d usually found it was good to stay attentive to people’s shifts in mood. He’d just have to guess based off the voice.

“Good to hear you are so devout as to visit outside the holidays. Any relation to Sirius Black?”

Harry hesitated, saying reluctantly, “I am _very_ faithful to the Old Ways. And Black is a cousin, of some distant degree. We don’t acknowledge him.”

“I should think not, the nasty little turncoat.”

“I read that maybe he’s innocent of betraying the Potters? That he never served the Dark Lord?”

“Quite right,” sneered Flint. “He should have been loyal to his family’s alliance, don’t you think?” It made Harry’s blood run cold. He’d thought they were _friends_. Well, friendly acquaintances, at least.

“Yes, I agree,” murmured Harry obediently, eyes downcast and body slumped in a submissive posture learnt many years ago.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting this little adventure of yours kept secret,” hinted Flint.

Harry refused to promise a favour he wouldn’t be able to repay, but did find a Wideye Potion to offer that Flint found acceptable as a fee for his silence.

Eventually Snape returned, and Flint said, “He’s been working hard, for a Ravenclaw. Not a peep out of him, sir.”

“Excellent,” said Snape, and dismissed him.

“He lied about that,” grumbled Harry after Flint had left. “He hit me with a Stinging Hex when I wouldn’t talk to him.”

“Obviously. Or he wouldn’t have said you were in Ravenclaw. Five points to Ravenclaw for having the wit to change your story to suit your audience.”

Harry sighed. “Couldn’t Gryffindor get some points back? Sixty points is a lot.”

“And you tried to pin that loss on Slytherin. Ten points from Gryffindor for an abysmal lack of intelligence and a willingness to defame the best House at Hogwarts.”

He stalked over next to Harry, peering at his face closely (which made Harry lean away nervously). “Now, if my judgement is correct, and it _always_ is, your potion should be wearing off any moment. I would say in approximately ten seconds. Ten… nine… eight…” he counted down expectantly.

Harry, thinking fast, slowly let go of his shifted appearance, letting it revert back to bright green eyes and smooth tidy black hair. He figured he may as well put his glasses back on now, and as he settled the rectangular silver frames in front of his eyes, the first thing he saw clearly was the smug look of triumph on Snape’s face.

 _Drat_ , he thought unhappily. _I stuffed up somehow_. It didn’t take long to discover how – Snape was too keen to boast of his cunning.

“No-one except the brewer can predict so precisely when a potion’s effects will expire,” he pointed out, “and even then you would need to be a Master, and know the time of ingestion. That I could correctly guess so precisely the time your disguise would wear off is inconceivably unlikely.”

“It sounded plausible,” Harry said with a sigh. “You are a Master Potioneer, after all.”

“The best lies always sound plausible. Note also that I didn’t give you time to think it over and spot the holes in my claim. People are less critical and choose less wisely under pressure. Now, an explanation, if you please. I would prefer not to have to resort to threats… or other methods of enquiry.”

“I’m a Metamorphmagus,” Harry admitted quietly. “Not as fast as the books say some people are, but I can do my hair and eyes. And my nose, but only a little. I can’t do the rest of my face or my body.”

Snape nodded. “It seemed unlikely, but the most plausible explanation. Yet it is not a talent either of your parents held.”

Harry hunched. “I guess I’m just all kinds of a freak.”

“Five points from Gryffindor for the insult.”

“What?” Harry said with surprise. “What insult?”

Snape wore a look of pained disappointment as he shook his head. “Five more points from Gryffindor for being a complete dunderhead.”

Harry smiled. He got it now.

“Don’t think this revelation of yours gets you out of that pile of cauldrons. You still haven’t come completely clean, so you still have work to do.”

Harry listened patiently to Snape’s rants on his idiocy, gullibility, and lack of guile, while he finished his scrubbing. He’d heard a lot worse than that in his time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The delightfully fitting astrological predictions about the influence of Jupiter’s transit are based on information from: https://www.cyberastro.com/articles/jupiter_transit_predictions.asp  
> Any errors can probably be laid at the feet of my relative ignorance about astrology.  
> FYI Tom Riddle was born on the 31st of December.
> 
> Thanks to montanaatheart for their alert about technical issues with last chapter’s update on FFN.
> 
> I recently posted a new HP story entitled “Dark Lord Herod”, if you want to take a peek at something short and new. :)


	29. I'm Your Number One Fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lupin has a plan to help Black. He thinks it’s a great plan, and Black thinks he’s an idiot.

**_April 1994_ **

Many students seemed to be on Harry’s side about Black, but not all. And after Flint’s unknowing revelation of his hidden loyalty, Harry was a little warier of those who smiled and said they supported him. Who was to say _they_ weren’t lying too? Flint was all friendliness and courtesy whenever they met at Potter Watch meetings, or in the hallways. Yet secretly he thought Black should’ve sided with the Dark Lord and betrayed Harry’s family.

So many letters were continuing to arrive each evening that Harry had taken to keeping a little container of bacon pieces on his desk next to Storm’s tank to feed to the post owls. It seemed polite.

Dumbledore wrote to say that he was resigning from his position as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, as part of a deal to secure a fair trial for Black in May or June, but that it wasn’t official or announced yet, and asked Harry to keep it quiet for now. Harry felt really pleased to be trusted with that snippet of information, and very impressed at the lengths Dumbledore was going to, to secure a trial for his godfather. He wrote an appreciative letter back in return, mentioning his fear that there may be “multiple” diaries made by Tom Riddle aka You-Know-Who. He rather thought the two of them got along much better at a distance than in person. Dumbledore wasn’t such a bad man after all, to be so determined to fix his mistake.

About a week after her first letter, Blishwick wrote back again to Harry, responding to his “I’m not the Heir but thanks for offering to help” letter.

_To Harold James Potter, Heir of the Noble House of Potter,_

_I apologise for my previous gross misunderstanding, and will be scrupulously careful not to address any correspondence to you as the Heir of Slytherin in the future. I would appreciate it if you would not mention my error to anyone as I find it all rather embarrassing._

_Thank you for your kind wishes in regards to my brother – it was very pleasing to hear your thoughtful supportive words. If you do by any chance hear any news of him do indeed please send word._

_My most sincere regards,_

_Apulia Blishwick_

_Regent of the House of Blishwick_

_Well, that had gone well_ , thought Harry. Though it seemed a bit odd she’d dropped her ingratiatingly servile tone for a more standard polite one in this letter, and wasn’t eagerly volunteering to help with Black’s case like he’d hinted – perhaps he’d accidentally offended her somehow? Oh well. At least she wasn’t angry. He scrawled out a polite note letting her know confidentially that an “unnamed source” (Sirius) had told him there were additional escapees from the low-security wing of Azkaban that the papers weren’t reporting on, and sealed the letter with some wax stamped with the impression of his Potter Heir ring, as they seemed quite the formal type. Most of those who thought he was the Heir were pretty traditional pure-bloods. He wished he knew Quirrell’s charm for enchanting letters to self-destruct – it would be handy at times like this when he was gossiping about things he probably shouldn’t be sharing. But he really felt for her, being so worried about her brother.

A few people had written to pledge their help if it came to a trial, including Trophonius Parkinson (who didn’t seem convinced of Sirius’ innocence, but was willing to support the notion of a trial at least), and Neville’s Gran. Alice Tolipan sent a little note saying she was sorry they kept missing each other in the halls, and that the _Wizarding Wireless_ had included his quotes in their most recent broadcast on the news about Azkaban.

Acquaintances and strangers wrote to say how they’d written to the _Prophet_ , or spoken to the Minister, or some patron they had in the Ministry. Pressure was building, but there were others who wrote to tell him off or to mock him, derisively pointing out that if Black was truly innocent, he would’ve handed himself in to the Aurors by now, or saying how Harry was betraying Pettigrew’s sacrifice in the most horrible way. After the _Quibbler’s_ article came out, he got a few new, stranger correspondents. One promised him she was killing every rat she could find, and would send any that suspiciously lacked toes straight to the Aurors.

Other mail had nothing to do with Sirius’ trial at all - dull and even irritating mail came as rather a welcome relief by sheer contrast.

Gringotts sent their annual statement, with no unpleasant surprises that Harry could see.

One self-righteous windbag wrote to complain about how Potter Cottage had been “ruined” by the repairs to the roof, and the addition of a manicured garden full of flowers and vegetable beds, and demanded Harry refund his and his wife’s travel expenses to visit what _should_ have remained a ruined testament to the “Horror of the War”. Harry was not at _all_ appreciative of his irate rant about how he should, as the Boy Who Lived, have more respect for history. He made a note of the man’s name, and cathartically burnt his letter. Some people didn’t deserve a response.

Harry was enjoying his regular correspondence with Sirius, though he did try and keep the letters short, as all his letters were these days. He relayed bits and pieces of information from his other letters – who would support him in a trial, and who to avoid. He shared gossip too, like Lockhart’s advice that his story would “sell better” with a villain (and Pettigrew wasn’t cutting it), and that few people were believing Dumbledore’s persistent warnings about You-Know-Who, though Harry believed him. He shared personal stuff too, like his worry about being beaten by Hermione in Potions, and how he never felt like he had enough free time to study any more, and how he was getting intermittent nausea from drinking too many Wideye Potions and as such was trying to cut back on using them.

-000-

Harry was still intensely focused on Sirius’ plight, but for most students the novelty of the news wore off soon enough, as none of the escaped Death Eaters were sighted or captured. As the days wore on without notable drama everyone settled quietly back into the routine of classes.

Professor Snape loomed and stalked back and forth at the front of the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, all swishing batlike black robes and lank long black hair. The back rows of the class had gradually become the most popular seats over the past few weeks – the opposite of how it had been under Professor Lupin’s reign. Harry was almost alone in liking to sit up the front, but his friends often joined him, especially Hermione (even though Snape told her off for her behaviour quite regularly).

It was a very quiet class today, as students scribbled answers frantically on the test Snape had set them relatively unexpectedly on Counter-jinxes and Counter-hexes (they _had_ been learning them, but there had been no warning about the test). When he called time they passed their rolls of parchment up to the front, after which Professor Snape began a discussion on the topic.

“Who can tell me the difference between a hex and a charm?”

Hermione waited precisely three seconds after he’d asked before her hand shot into the air – Harry had noticed this becoming a pattern of hers lately. On this occasion, Midgen got to beat her by a second, and Snape called on her instead (to Hermione’s thin-lipped frustration).

“Hexes are harmful in nature?” Midgen tentatively suggested in a questioning tone of voice. “While a charm doesn’t hurt anyone?”

Snape looked unimpressed with her answer. “And the Severing Charm is not harmful?”

Hermione’s hand quivered in the air, and Snape called upon her next. “Granger.”

Her breath went out with a rush as the words tumbled out, free at last. “A hex is one of the seven known spell types, and can be similar to either a charm or a transfiguration. They are a type of Dark magic, and are darker than a jinx but less dark than a curse. The key characteristic of a hex is that its intent is malicious or harmful, and causes a moderate level of suffering to the victim. A charm adds certain properties to an object or creature, without altering its fundamental nature.”

“A textbook answer that completely fails to properly address the question,” he sneered disparagingly. “Let us try again to dredge some tiny spark of original thought from this rather sorry class of Gryffindors. Consider the Tickling Hex, _Titillando_ , and the Tickling Charm, _Rictusempra_. Why is the first spell classed as a hex, but the other is considered a charm? What is the difference?”

Hermione looked downcast and temporarily lost for a response, so Harry felt safe to put his hand up for this one. He was familiar with the Tickling Hex from Vindictus Viridian’s book _Curses and Counter-Curses_ , which helped a lot.

“Yes, Potter?”

“There is no significant difference between the two, sir. The Tickling Hex manifests hands made of purple light to tickle the target, and has a stronger weakening effect leaving the target having trouble with their walking. However, the Tickling Charm – which doesn’t have a visible cause for the tickling – can also cause weakness as the target doubles over with laughter and can even fall over. Designating a spell as a hex is basically dependent on how harmful a spell seems, and if there are nicer uses for the spell or not, like how the Severing Charm can cut thread or paper. I think basically the Tickling Charm doesn’t _have_ to cause physical weakness, whereas the hex always does – but both can harm someone.”

Snape nodded. “Three points to Gryffindor. The assignment of spells to classes such as jinx, hex, and curse are arbitrary decisions made by an author of a spellbook, the consensus of popular opinion, or the Ministry, and thus have little or no meaningful value for the enlightened witch or wizard.”

“That’s like saying there’s no such thing as Dark magic!” Ron yelled angrily, losing five points from Gryffindor.

“I submit to you, Weasley, that by the textbook definition kindly quoted by Granger you are most likely a Dark wizard. As are most students in this room, whom I have no doubt have also often dabbled with Dark spells.”

There was a minor uproar of outrage at that which had many students complaining to their deskmates, but mostly seemed to amuse Snape (though it didn’t stop him taking a rash of points, and Harry sighed as he realised it would be another DADA class where Gryffindor ended up in negative points again).

“All students who have ever cast a jinx stand up!” Snape snarled brusquely as he finally tired of the hubbub, and a couple of students grudgingly pushed to their feet, starting with Finnegan and Midgen.

“ _Flipendo_ , the Knockback Jinx,” Harry said out loud, his chair scraping on the stone floor as he stood too. “Come on, I know almost everyone here’s done that one.”

In the end, between Harry’s reminder and Snape’s list of minor jinxes like the Jelly-Legs Jinx ( _Locomotor Wibbly_ ) everyone was standing.

“Well, well,” purred Snape. “Amazing – a whole class of noble Gryffindors all casting Dark magic… dabbling in the Dark Arts. Do you feel evil? No? Everyone be seated.” With a clatter of chairs they all settled down. “Now, perhaps some of you are now saying to yourself, ‘A jinx isn’t _that_ Dark!’ So let us see which of you Gryffindors are _brave_ enough to admit to casting a hex or curse. Please stand if you have done that.”

The students looked uncomfortably around at each other, and Harry noticed Snape’s eyes lingering on him in particular, but he wasn’t the only one there watching Harry. Harry sighed and stood up, to an interested murmur.

“Come on Hermione, you too,” he said. “You taught one to me.”

“What?” she said, confused for a moment, as the class muttered in amazement and looked at her suspiciously as she stood too. “Oh yes, I remember, though I’ve also seen it classed as a charm.”

“Behold the Darkest wizard and witch in your class!” Snape said, in a menacing sibilant tone of voice that had Neville reflexively shrinking back in his seat. Harry thought he was a lot better around Professor Snape these days, but Neville still had his moments of nervousness. “And what is this dreadful curse you have dabbled with, children?”

“I can demonstrate it if you like,” volunteered Harry.

With Snape’s approving nod, Harry grabbed a quill from his desk, and held it aloft, spinning around to face the class. “Behold!” Harry cried dramatically in his best Lockhart impersonation as he pointed his wand at the ink-stained feather. “The dreaded Gemino Curse! _Geminio!_ ”

Most students flinched back in fear at the unexpected melodrama, nervously uncertain what would happen. A second feather quill, identical to the first, blinked into existence and fell to Harry’s desk in a rapid spiral to land innocently on his wooden desk.

“Now what happens?” Thomas asked warily from the desk next to Harry’s.

“That’s it,” Hermione said with a grin. “It just makes a copy of something non-living.”

“That’s all? Why is that a curse?” Ron protested.

“Sometimes it’s called the Doubling Charm,” Hermione said. “It’s not much of a curse, really.”

“It might be more of a curse in _your_ hands, Weasley,” Snape said, provoking a scowl from Ron. “Cast by an incompetent or malicious wizard or witch, the Gemino Curse can see an object double over and over again, until the doomed target in an enclosed area such as a closed room suffocates or is crushed to death under the unstoppable press of duplicated objects. There is no specific counter-charm for this Dark spell, and should your generic _Finite Incantatem_ prove insufficiently powerful you are then reliant on the dubious mercy of the caster. For only they can end the spell by an effort of will - even slaying the caster will not suffice to end the curse. Do not think you can flee so easily, for Apparition is difficult with a press of objects around you, and Splinching is likely. You would arrive without a limb or two if you were lucky, and your head if you were not. Assuming you were capable of Apparition in the first place, which I _highly_ doubt any of you are.”

The class was silent as they pondered that horrific vision, many looking suspiciously at the feather lying innocuously on Harry’s desk.

“Sit, both of you. Now, who wishes to tender their opinion on whether casting this curse makes one a Dark wizard or witch?”

Neville tentatively put his hand up, and waited for approval to speak, “Sort of? I th-think it depends on if you are trying to hurt or kill someone with it or not. I don’t think Hermione or Harry are Dark for using it when they are merely copying pages from library books when they are studying. Which is what they usually use it for, I think.”

“Two points to Gryffindor,” Snape said approvingly, and Neville beamed in happiness at earning some very rare points from Professor Snape.

In the distance, a bell tolled the hour. “Homework!” Snape snapped sharply before anyone dared to move to grab their bag. “Two feet due next Friday. Discuss a curse, hex, or jinx that can be used non-violently, _and_ a charm, transfiguration, healing spell, or counter-spell that can be used offensively in a manner to severely injure the target. Note that means _one_ ‘Dark’ and _one_ ‘Light’ spell, not one spell from every single category. Miss Granger, kindly _lower your hand_. Class dismissed!”

“I was just going to ask if he wanted us to cover spell theory too,” Hermione muttered rebelliously to Harry and Neville as they headed to their next class. “He could have given me a _chance_ to ask.”

“But he didn’t take points off you today,” Harry said brightly. “So there’s an improvement there. And he implied that Ron is incompetent at his spells, but that you aren’t. For him that’s practically a compliment.”

Hermione perked back up happily. “That’s true. I think Pansy’s tips are helping.”

Neville peeled off to go to Divination with a large group of Gryffindors, while Harry and Hermione went to Ancient Runes.

“I’m so excited to see if my rune carvings are sufficient to keep my block afloat!” she chatted happily.

Harry nodded. “I thought about naming my boat the Titanic, but I decided that might be asking for trouble.”

Hermione laughed. “It’s not much of a boat. It’s just a block of ironwood.”

“Well, it’s a heavy block that’s supposed to float in water instead of sinking, no matter what Professor Babbling does to it. That’s kind of like a boat! It’s practice for the real thing, don’t you think?”

“I suppose. I picked bind runes with a double ligature for mine. Laguz for the base, reversed to resist and repel water. How about you, Harry?”

“Ehwaz for the base, for transportation. Chained with Laguz for water – not reversed – and Algiz for protection.”

“Chained, not bound? Interesting choice. But wouldn’t something like Eihwaz be better for protection?”

“Yew is stronger than sedge, yes. But its elemental affiliation is earth and fire,” argued Harry, “while Algiz is associated with water and air. Much more suitable.”

As they sat down together in class with Anthony, Hermione laughed when she saw Harry’s rectangular blocky “boat”. He’d carved a name on it too – “HMS Merlin”.

“You put a name onto it?” she said, amused.

“I thought it would be lucky,” he grinned. Ambrosius had thought it was _hilarious._ He’d recommended _Prydwen_ as a fine choice for a real ship if Harry became a shipwright one day, after Arthur’s sailing ship.

“Additional carvings on it might interfere with the runes,” suggested Anthony.

“I doubt it – Elder Futhark and English are completely different languages.”

“Well good luck!” Hermione said brightly.

“You too.”

Professor Babbling had found – or conjured – a very large tub full of water to test their runic inscribed blocks of wood. The first test was easy – would their heavy ironwood plank sink in water or not?

Only one student failed at this point – Lisa Turpin. She explained disappointedly that she’d expected that result. “It didn’t work at first, so I shaved off the runes and tried again. But nothing made it float.”

Professor Babbling shook her head disappointedly. “The magic was already affecting the wood since you’d imbued it as you carved – removing the runes without additional cleansing wasn’t enough. You should have consulted me or an older student for advice, or asked for a new piece of ironwood.”

Cornfoot and Brocklehurst’s planks held on through the next couple of tests – being burdened with a pile of lead weights, and blown about by a conjured breeze. But they failed what Babbling called the “flip test”, where the water was agitated to tip them over to see if the blocks would right themselves or sink.

“Compare your results to Granger’s block,” said Babbling, “where her water-repelling runes are carved on _all_ sides, not just the anticipated ‘bottom’ of the plank.”

The other students’ blocks all made it through, and Babbling actually approved of Harry’s naming of his ship, which made him direct a small smug look at Hermione.

“Interesting choice, to treat your block of wood as a boat prototype,” she said, “and to name a thing is to give it power, of course. A name more clearly tied to the runes used or their number would have been wiser, but I understand you’re not doing Arithmancy, so it’s an excellent effort. It has helped anchor the magic in your runes nicely, though I expect you can’t discern the difference.”

Harry murmured happily to Hermione as they left, “See? The name _was_ a good idea.”

“Yes, it was! Isn’t that interesting? I’m going to read up on that.”

-000-

Sirius wrote that he’d been offered a trial at the start of June if he turned himself in to await it, but he wasn’t willing to do that – he didn’t trust the Ministry to honour that deal. Apparently Dumbledore was growing frustrated with his attitude, but he didn’t care. He swore he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. It looked like things might drag on forever, until a shocking new newspaper headline shook everything up.

“ _WEREWOLF DEATH EATER TELLS ALL!_

 _‘I FREED THEM ALL FROM AZKABAN FOR THE DARK LORD!_ ’”

Their erstwhile Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin, was claiming full credit for the mass breakout from Azkaban, and had written to the _Daily Prophet_ with a tell-all confession. Reportedly he’d also sent a copy to the Aurors, too.

“It’s such a tangle,” fretted Hermione. “I can’t believe he really did it, even though he’s saying he did. ‘I was so angry to learn the truth, that Sirius Black never betrayed the Potters at all, that I decided to free _true_ followers of the Dark Lord to join me in reviving a Dark crusade against the wizarding world.’ I mean, seriously? That doesn’t sound at all likely. Or like him at all.”

“He _could_ have worked from the inside to help his old friend Pettigrew and two other allies to get inside Azkaban. Why would he say that if it wasn’t true?” worried Neville. “He seemed so _nice_. What do you think, Harry? Harry?”

But while Harry was listening, he didn’t respond - lost in thought. If it wasn’t true, why _would_ he make a confession? Didn’t he believe he’d get a trial? What was his goal? Was he a Death Eater sympathiser trying to impress his Lord? Was he trying to scare the populace more than Sirius did?

“Let me see the paper again,” he said with a frown, reading the story over a second time. Looking not at the ‘facts’ as stated, but the pattern. Trying to look at it like a Slytherin. He sighed. There were too many interpretations and possibilities. He needed to know what your average wizard or witch would take away from the article – he wasn’t the target audience. He knew too much already.

“Hey Ron,” he called across the breakfast table, “and Finnegan. What do you guys think, after reading today’s article? What opinions of yours have changed?”

Ron looked a bit shaken. “Well, I wouldn’t want to run into Lupin in a dark alley now, that’s for sure! Scary. Did you read the bit where he said he was planning to kill me in the Shrieking Shack, but Black talked him out of it? Do you think that’s true, Harry?”

Finnegan nodded in agreement. “Lupin’s clearly a Death Eater, or a sympathiser. He hid it well, but it all makes sense now. And Black is innocent! Sorry I didn’t completely believe you about that earlier, Harry. I just wasn’t sure.”

Harry gasped, and looked at the paper again. Yes! There was the key. Not in what Skeeter was writing, but what Lupin was saying, over and over, in between his confessions of dark deeds and evil threats. He hated Black. Black had stopped him from killing Ron. Black was a traitor to his family who’d never supported the Dark Lord like he should. Black had tried to kill Pettigrew, who was a proper loyal servant of the Dark Lord.

_He was trying to clear Sirius’ name by painting himself as the real villain, and making himself the scapegoat._

An ink-spotted parchment letter from Sirius a couple of days later confirmed it.

“ _He’s such an idiot! He didn’t tell me, or anyone, what he was doing. He is still so pigheaded about it. He said there’s no way he’s ever going back to Azkaban to die there, and a trial would prove enough wrongdoings that they’d want to send him back for sure. He **did** co-operate with the people who freed him, for instance – he was just so desperate to get out of Azkaban. And of course you know that werewolves never get the benefit of the doubt, or light sentences. So he decided he may as well play the villain for the press and try and help get my name cleared. The noble, troll-brained idiot. _

_Harry, I want you to know that what he was saying was absolute rubbish. And don’t worry about the bit where he swore to exterminate the last of the Potters. That’s all hot air, and he wants you to know he is very, very sorry he said that and doesn’t mean it, and he hopes you understand it was done in a higher cause._ ”

And it seemed to work, too. It was the final straw that pushed the public into sympathising with Black instead of condemning him, and the _Prophet_ published the Minister’s announcement that a trial date of Wednesday the 1st of June was set for Sirius Black, who was currently officially on parole seeking medical attention and recovering from his sad ordeal of imprisonment in Azkaban, and the hurt of betrayal by yet another erstwhile friend. The public was assured that Black was no longer considered a threat, and was not being sought by the Aurors any longer as they were aware of his location and Black was cooperating with the Ministry.

Dumbledore, no longer the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot but still Headmaster of Hogwarts (as well as retaining his position as Supreme Mugwump of the ICW), returned in semi-triumph to the school full-time, instead of just flitting back and forth being a part-time Headmaster. Harry sent him a nice thank you letter for all his help for Sirius, and Dumbledore twinkled happily at him from the staff table at dinner that evening, giving him a cheerful little wave. Harry wondered what his Boggart would be now he wasn’t quite so scared of him anymore.

-000-

Harry moaned when he received a letter at the end of April from the publisher of _Battles with the Basilisk,_ Mr. Sayre, saying that Harry would have to do the promotional visits to bookstores on his own in June, as Lockhart had decided he would be too busy to do _any_.

_“I would like to know if you are willing to do some additional visits beyond those you are contractually obligated to do, as otherwise we expect sales will fall – success relies heavily on name recognition, and without Lockhart the burden falls upon you. You don’t want to miss out on your share of the profits now, do you? We are willing to offer reasonable compensation for any promotional efforts, from our own share of the profits._

_In addition, please note that Mr. Lockhart has nominated you to approve any further changes to promotional or financial arrangements should he be uncontactable during his travels, as is likely.”_

Harry was very bemused by it all. He wouldn’t have thought Lockhart would skip out on a chance to promote his book and improve sales. Wasn’t that what he loved more than anything, apart from his hair? He wrote to him asking what was going on, and why he wasn’t going to promote _Battles with the Basilisk_ after all – Harry was sure he wouldn’t be able to do it half so well as Lockhart would, even if he _wanted_ to spend all summer trying to sell books (which he didn’t), and sales would surely suffer. He got a response just under a week later.

_“Dear Harry,_

_How lovely to hear from you yet again! I am sorry I will not be able to correspond with you much for a while, as I am very busy about to embark on an epic quest to save some poor African villagers from a flock of Fwoopers who have been driving men completely mad - both wizards and Muggles! My previous experience with them has been mostly limited to the rather marvellous quills their colourful plumes make – I am interested in the opportunity to see them in the wild!_

_I am sure while inconvenient to have the burden of promoting my new book fall accidentally upon you due to this most unfortunate timing, you will soldier through most admirably. May I heartily recommend my publisher, Tiberius Sayre, whom I have always found such a great help and who is always happy to be consulted about any last-minute niggling matters of book production and promotion that may vex one. (If rather tiresome in regards to his insistence about editing standards.) I hope he can assist you in working out some reasonable promotional scheme for “Battles with the Basilisk”, but if he tries to charge you for that work, tell him he’ll have to answer to me! _

_I am sorry to hear you are upset with my planned absence over summer, and I can only beg of you to please forgive me. I hope you understand that a Hogwarts student (even one as famous as you, Harry) has relatively few demands on their time. However, a man such as I has limited leisure time for responding to mail while on an epic adventure in the wild jungles of Africa! You are one of the very few whom I have a precious grant of time to correspond to._

_Let me tell you Harry, those pesky Fwoopers will be in big trouble when I catch up with them! Lesser men may quail at dealing with birds whose mere song can drive men mad. Bored with the dull life at home in England, however so dear it is as my homeland, I now turn to the mysterious Dark Continent to slake my thirst for adventure and helping others! _

_But worry not for my sake, for besides developing my own range of hair care products, or winning another one of Witch Weekly’s ‘Most Charming Smile’ awards, there is nothing I love better than being on an adventure!_

_Wish me well in my quest, and I hope to see you again one day soon!_

_Your good friend,_

_Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, O.M. (Third Class)_

Harry thought it all sounded a bit odd, but he guessed maybe his old professor had gotten a taste for real heroism. Either that, or he was trying to skip out on a lot of boring promotional work and was hoping Harry would do it for him. Perhaps it was a little of both.

Neville was sympathetic to Harry’s new plight, and Hermione was starry-eyed to listen to Harry reading excerpts of Lockhart’s letter out loud that detailed his latest adventure.

“He must trust you a great deal, to ask you to look after promoting his latest book! What an honour!” she sighed dreamily.

Ron was envious but trying not to show it, and put in a request for a free signed copy for his mum. “She said a while ago she’d love to hear the full story. So she can talk it over with Ginny.” Harry agreed to get him one, gratis, if he could.

His Slytherin friends were mostly amused by Harry’s plight, and by Lockhart’s alleged new heroic adventure. “Fwoopers,” scoffed Draco. “That would take _seconds_ to deal with if you can cast a Silencing Charm. Maybe he can’t. _I’d_ be ashamed to graduate and not know how to cast that. Not that I can cast it yet, but I’m sure I shall by then.”

“Their song can drive men completely _mad_ ,” Hermione said defensively. “ _I_ think he’s very brave.”

“Daddy loves Fwoopers,” Luna said brightly. “They’re very pretty. But they don’t make good pets.” She’d quietly joined their table as she was doing increasingly often. Usually she just sat quietly and did her homework, or puzzles, or read a book. The more she chatted without being insulted or told to leave, the braver she was getting about joining in their conversations.

“See if you can get an extra ten per cent of the profits from the publisher,” Pansy advised Harry. “Start at twenty, and see what their counter offer is. If Lockhart’s not around, and since he’s been unwise enough to authorise you to make financial decisions, there’s not much he can do about it.”

Hermione was so shocked her jaw dropped open.

“Don’t forget to get them to cover travel expenses,” added Draco. “Portkeys are expensive.”

“I… can’t _believe_ you two!” Hermione said in slow shock.

“Methinks that is quite enough socialising for today,” Neville said firmly, grabbing her elbow and starting to walk her out of the library, as she sputtered in outrage.

“See you later,” said Harry resignedly. “Thanks for the advice.”

“What is she so upset about?” Draco asked Pansy, sounding genuinely mystified, as they left.

“They _are_ Slytherins,” said Neville to Hermione. “And the Malfoy fortunes didn’t come from nowhere. What did you expect?”

“True,” she said reflectively, “but I was still surprised they’d think Harry should take advantage of a brave hero like Lockhart! Someone who’s been such a good friend to him, too!”

Harry shifted uncomfortably and said nothing. He’d thought it was good advice. Lockhart’s decision to go travelling was going to make a lot of extra work for him – didn’t he deserve to be paid for that if he was going to have to swan around bookshops in a ridiculous manner with people staring and him and talking with him as if he’d had something to do with writing the book?

Harry wasn’t the only one put out by Lockhart’s relatively abrupt withdrawal from all his scheduled promotional activities and arrangements. A witch from Gabon got in contact with Harry (having been referred by the publisher, Sayre) to ask for his approval to translate _Battles with the Basilisk_ into French and German, as she’d previously been trying to arrange with Lockhart. She made a persuasive argument about her skills, citing her graduation from the Uagadou School of Magic in Uganda, and her degree from Omar Bongo University in Gabon where she studied multiple languages _and_ business. She also included a couple of sample translations of passages – Harry thought the one in French sounded good, at least. He couldn’t judge the other one. She talked up how very many countries around the world had populations fluent in French or German and how much it could improve sales, how she had connections to wizarding booksellers across Africa and parts of southern Europe, and suggested that she would additionally act as a sales liaison for a negotiable commission. Harry didn’t know what to do, so he asked Pansy (who delighted in being consulted). _Without_ Hermione around to be morally outraged by any potentially shady advice.

“Unless Lockhart’s had someone else do it before who will charge less, approve the request to translate the books, and tell the publisher to handle the details of the payment. Of course you will still want a standard percentage of the profit. I’d say you should approve her as a sales representative too – you have nothing to lose there! Even if other people usually do the sales job, a little healthy competition can only help you. That way they won’t drive up prices unreasonably, lest the other salesperson undercut them.”

While he wasn’t sure that consulting a fellow teenager was really the soundest business practice, he thought she seemed pretty confident in her opinion, and it all sounded good to Harry. He wrote to the translator letting her know he’d approved her requests, and that he’d written to the publisher so that she and Sayre could now hammer out the fine details.

There was one final, exciting letter in April that made Harry very happy. Even though he didn’t get to read a single word of it.

On the last day of April, when he showed up for a secretive planning meeting with his Slytherin friends for Beltane, Millicent was there too.

“My father wrote – he said I can officially and openly associate with you again, since he’s heard there’s no risk involved anymore,” she explained happily.

“Not from Black, at any rate. Welcome back to our circle,” Harry said with a beaming smile, bowing as he kissed the back of her hand, making her smile and blush. And Daphne scowl. Though Harry didn’t notice it at all and remained oblivious both to her frown, and to the other observers’ amusement.

“My father said I can talk to him too,” said Crabbe with an odd sidelong glance at Harry. He’d been a bit friendlier lately, though Harry was at a loss as to guess exactly why, and Crabbe hadn’t dropped any hints. Perhaps it was all the pure-blood style of networking Harry had been doing recently. “But not your Mu..ggle-born friends, sorry Potter. Granger and her ilk are still off limits.” Draco gave him a silent nod.

“She’s not so bad,” Greg said uncomfortably.

“As a client,” Crabbe said sternly.

“Of course,” Greg insisted. “And an ally of Harry’s. You know she has been working on a book with me. We are thinking of getting it published properly. Harry said he knows a publisher who might help.”

“I’ve been helping too,” Tracey interjected brightly. “And chaperoning.” Greg didn’t appreciate her wink at him.

“Just be careful,” Crabbe insisted.

“It’s not like she’s going to ruin his reputation just by talking to him, for hea… Merlin’s sake,” Harry said exasperatedly. “It’s not like being Muggle-born is _catching_.”

“I think she has a lot of potential!” Pansy said defensively. “She is trying to join us now, rather than change us. I have taken her under my wing. Merlin knows the girl needed some polish. She still does. If we _must_ associate with her, at least she should be someone who knows how to comport herself so that we needn’t be ashamed to be seen with her.”

“We really need to work on her hair next,” mused Daphne, making Millicent giggle.

Harry groaned. “You _know_ she’s my good friend – can’t you keep your discussions of this kind of thing for when I’m not around, at the very least? It’s just not _courteous_.”

They felt the sting of that rebuke on their manners (from _Harry_ of all people), and after a few polite apologies returned to the topic at hand.

Beltane eve was on a Sunday, and so plans had been made for an afternoon gathering in the Forbidden Forest, at the “smaller menhir”. Harry’s guess about its location was confirmed correct after a glance at a map they’d drawn up – it was the first one he’d stumbled across while looking for the diary, not far from the wolves. _Not_ the larger one Dobby had once hidden the diary near.

Plans were made for which people would lead tiny groups of third years into the forest the next afternoon, and covert meeting points arranged.

“Harry, you’re in Nott’s group with Greg, Macmillan, and Cornfoot,” Draco pronounced. “And your snake can come too. Remember to bring something for the feast, pick up some fallen wood for the bonfire as you go, and do _not_ use your wand.”

“None of the girls are in my group?”

“No, they’re travelling separately.”

“We have flowers to gather,” Pansy said brightly.

“Can’t the boys pick flowers too?” Harry asked, kind of disappointed. Aunt Petunia knew – though they never discussed it with Uncle Vernon – that Harry really liked working in the flower garden at Privet Drive.

Tracey giggled at his question, but the others didn’t.

“It is simply a division of labour for the journey,” Pansy said, then patted his hand comfortingly. “Don’t worry, you shall have a flower crown to wear too. Everyone will tomorrow – it’s one of this year’s traditions to learn.”

“I’m going to bring my medical kit,” Harry volunteered rather shyly. “I’ve just restocked it in preparation for Beltane. So you know, if you wanted… you could let people know I’ll have some potions and balms and bandages. In case anyone gets hurt. Given we shouldn’t use wands.”

That earned him an impressed murmur of interest, and a promise they’d discreetly pass on the offer.

“One last thing,” said Draco, looking a little uncomfortable. “Professor Snape told us to discreetly let people know that there may be Aurors stationed at Hogwarts for the rest of the year on a rotating schedule for our protection against Azkaban escapees. So this will be the last outing for the year without the trouble of evading notice.”

“Interesting timing,” mused Harry. It did seem a good idea with so many Death Eaters loose – they’d done more just for Sirius Black’s threat against him. He wondered if the timing had anything to do with his own adventure in the woods – to stop him going again - or if it was a coincidence. Maybe Snape’s message was intended to warn him not to try venturing into the forest again.

“The Ministry’s always slow to act if no-one’s pushing them along,” Pansy pronounced, causing Tracey to look a little grumpy. “But in this case there were people quietly working against it. Professor Snape said Aurors would have been assigned earlier, but people worked hard to delay it so we could enjoy Beltane properly. We missed proper Imbolc and Samhain celebrations already, because of those cursed Dementors.”

Harry felt embarrassed at leaping to conclusions. Not everything was about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. There’s an Easter egg hidden in it for alert readers. Comment if you see it, but try not to spoil it for others who are still looking! :) If you spot it, you’ll know without a doubt that you’ve found it – there will be no mistaking it. If you miss it, there will be another clue in the final chapter of this fic.  
> LokiFirefox – Thanks for the idea about the angry tourist to Potter Cottage.  
> RED Roman Pyro – I used a suggestion of yours (from some time ago) this chapter. I won’t say exactly what, as it may spoil a plot point for other readers. Can you spot what it was, and who it was about? ;)  
> World of Lily Luna – We see in this chapter that Hermione has taken some tips from Pansy on question-answering etiquette.  
> SirLordLonKirk – More international mail! Enjoy.


	30. Joyful Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The H.E.L.P. Society and Potter Watch have their final meetings for the year, and the traditionalists celebrate Beltane.

**_May 1994_ **

Sunday the first of May dawned bright and clear, and if it was still a bit nippy in the mornings in the Scottish Highlands it wasn’t enough to stop a horde of chattering students spilling out of the castle and into the sunlight to enjoy the morning lazing by the lake. The more studious took their homework with them to complete outside, while others lounged around playing card games, picnicked on the grass, gathered wildflowers like daisies, bluebells, or cowslips, or simply wandered aimlessly about in little groups of gossiping friends.

Many had headed out to the pitch to play pick-up Quidditch games on such a bright day. The Quidditch season was over, with Slytherin having won the Cup, and while some packed their brooms away, others enjoyed the chance to relax and muck about with friends without the pressure of serious competition and constant training.

Meanwhile, inside the castle some determined Hufflepuffs had decided that while they couldn’t skip out on their obligation to attend the last H.E.L.P. Society meeting of the year, there was no reason that they couldn’t make it a little more _fun_ if they had to be inside all morning. Hermione was looking bewildered and distracted by the stream of students filing into the club room bearing plates of food, and wandering around the borders of the room putting up decorations.

“What is all this for? Where did you get the food? That can’t be from breakfast?” she asked in confusion. “You know that we have a meeting on now, right?”

“Of course! That’s why we decided to make it a party,” Ernie Macmillan said cheerfully. “To celebrate what a great year it has been, since it _is_ the last meeting. We invited the house-elves to come too, and they insisted on making some food for us to share.”

“But if they’re working _harder_ because of our meeting…” worried Hermione, before Susan Bones patted her on the arm.

“Be of good cheer,” she said soothingly, “we thought of that too. Most of this is just leftovers from last night’s dinner. We _all_ care about the house-elves, Hermione.”

“Thanks Susan,” she said with a smile. “Of course you do.” Harry steered well clear of the girly hugging that ensued, in case he got caught up in the attack of sentiment.

He suffered his own attack of hugs, which was even _more_ awkward, when Dobby showed up and clung to Harry’s legs for some time, sobbing about Master Harry sir’s greatness to invite a lowly house-elf to a party. But eventually he was coaxed to detach himself and mingle with the other house-elves – some of the more elderly house-elves seemed to be giving him advice on how to manage when there wasn’t a lot of work to do, which made Harry feel oddly guilty for not giving him more tasks to do at Potter Cottage. He’d done his best from a distance, sending advice about the fish pond and the garden in occasional letters.

Hermione sighed sadly, prompting Harry to wander over to check on her. “Everything okay?” he asked cautiously.

“It’s just… I had a big speech prepared. I have palm cards. Going over what we’ve learnt about house-elves, and the results of our survey, and what to work on over the holidays,” she said disconsolately. “I didn’t know people wanted a party.”

Harry looked around the room – everyone seemed to be having a lot of fun, either chatting with each other, or the house-elves, or pigging out at the buffet of leftover meat, pies, and puddings. “Well, it surprised me too, but everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.”

“Do you think I can still give my speech, or will it ruin things?”

“Hmm. Well, maybe a short speech would be a good idea. Five minutes or so.”

“Five minutes!” she gasped. “I would need at least thirty, even for a short speech. I have so much to say!”

“Hermione, you know as well as I do that no-one wants to listen to a long talk right now, or you wouldn’t be over here in a corner looking grouchy, you’d already be giving your speech.”

She sighed again and folded her arms, looking stubborn and cross. “Yes, I know. But don’t you think we should have _some_ actual H.E.L.P. Society meeting content?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, I can see that – that’s fair. I guess you feel like the Hufflepuffs have taken over _your_ meeting today? I felt a bit like that when Percy started setting guards on me from Potter Watch.” He called over Neville to help. He was usually good at keeping everyone happy, and managing Hermione’s moods, and he thought enough like a ‘Puff to have good insight into managing them too.

Neville’s advice was simple and straightforward. “Keep it to a short speech, like Harry suggested-”

“-Which will help you seize control of the meeting again,” added Harry.

“-But then invite other group members to come forward and say a few words too,” Neville continued. “And invite some house-elves to talk as well. That way everyone feels listened to and appreciated. And it will be more like a party with speeches than a formal meeting, so it will stay feeling fun.”

After ten minutes of frantic and brutal cutting and rewriting of her speech to now focus almost solely on literacy rates amongst house-elves, and the existence of water-elves and field-elves (nixies and fenodyree) Hermione was ready to go. The enthusiastic applause for her unexpectedly _short_ talk (everyone _was_ used to her after all) brought a big smile to her face.

The meeting broke up happily after a round of speeches, with only a few other people wanting to speak. Luna for instance gave a very brief talk about how house-elves used to also be known as hobs or brownies, and were kin to wizardkind (her former statements were _much_ better received than the latter which was met with great scepticism and quiet offence by some, and denied by the house-elves themselves). Afterwards, students and house-elves scattered, full of pride in their quiet accomplishments that year in raising awareness and advocating for better conditions for house-elves.

Creevey covertly whispered, “Joyous Beltane!” to Harry excitedly before hurrying away.

-000-

Nott seemed to know where he was going in the Forbidden Forest, which Harry asked him about as they tromped through the forest on foot, in a small group with Greg, Ernie, and Stephen Cornfoot. Storm was along for the ride, looking very decorative as he was sleepily draped around Harry’s neck like a shimmering rainbow scarf.

“One of the older Slytherin students showed us the way last week,” he explained. “And if you glance at the ground you may spot see an occasional scattering of May flower petals to help mark the way.”

“Oh!” said Ernie. “That’s clever. And they won’t last, so it’s not like a permanent path.”

“What if there’s… monsters?” worried Cornfoot. “I know we’re not supposed to use our wands… but what if it’s an emergency?”

“Worry not, we have a standing arrangement with the centaurs for protection on the sacred days,” reassured Nott. “Did you not notice that one of them has been shadowing us as we walked?”

All the other boys spun around, but couldn’t immediately spot anything. Nott jerked his head subtly to the right, and Harry peered more closely in the indicated direction. “Over there?” he said. “I think I see somethi… someone black and white?”

“That is our escort,” Nott confirmed with a nod, picking up a branch of fallen dead wood off the ground to carry with him, shaking it briefly to dislodge a couple of bugs.

Harry gave a brief bow of gratitude in the centaur’s direction, even though he couldn’t see more than a patch of dappled flank, and the other boys copied him, even Nott. “Good idea,” Nott muttered. “It certainly shan’t hurt, at any rate.”

The little clearing with the “smaller” menhir (which Harry had stumbled across only briefly in his explorations, staying only long enough to determine it wasn’t the one he was looking for) was crowded with third year students, as Nott’s group was one of the last to arrive. The menhir itself was a plain, lumpy oval of grey stone about five foot high – less impressive than the other one Harry had found which was nine foot high, and encircled with runic engravings.

The boys deposited their gathered firewood in a pile near a rather large fire, and while Greg stayed with Crabbe to help tend the fire and chat, the others joined the larger group of students who were working on constructing floral wreaths, under the watchful eye of two adults. Professor Snape had joined them for Beltane (even with his back turned his greasy black hair was unmistakable), and was accompanied by another guest, a tall, very dark-skinned witch in dark red robes and a pointed hat. When she turned around and her dark brown eyes met Harry’s curious green gaze, she and Harry were mutually surprised – it was Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher.

“Harry Potter is here?!” she blurted incredulously, making the boy in question blush with embarrassment. She spun to confront Snape, who was smirking in amusement at her shock. “Why didn’t you warn me?” she complained.

“Oh _dear_ , did I forget? How dreadfully remiss of me to not brace you for that little revelation,” he said regretfully, _sounding_ sincerely apologetic. She looked suspicious and unconvinced by his apology, however, and harrumphed unhappily at him.

Harry slunk away behind some other students, and tried to avoid her notice. Pansy was happy to boss him around in the proper way to make a floral wreath.

“You have to include some hawthorn flowers in your wreath,” she said imperiously, passing him a plain circular twist of some kind of green branches or vines, and a branch covered in white blossoms. “It is also known as the May-tree, and fairies _love_ the May flowers. It cleanses, and purifies, and brings love. Please stop giggling Daphne, this is serious! So Harry, we focus on different traditions each year – there are lots of ways to celebrate, so if you don’t have a strong family tradition when you graduate you can choose something that speaks to you. The sixth years are doing a maypole dance along with the standard bonfire, for example.”

“What do flowers have to do with fire, though? Isn’t Beltane all about fire?”

“And fertility,” she said, looking uncomfortable and shooting a warning glance at Daphne, who smirked at her and mimed waving a wand at her mouth rather than the zipping gesture Harry was more familiar with. “Fertility and passion are associated with fire, and flowers represent fertility. And they also just generally mark the change of seasons. The returning sun and the strength it gives to plant life.”

Professor Sinistra looked like she was circulating amongst the students, under Snape’s watchful eye. Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever exchanged a word with her that wasn’t directly related to Astronomy, and even those were few – she didn’t engage with the students much in class, and he’d always found that focusing on your work and not falling asleep was all she really demanded. Very easy expectations to manage.

“So do you know what Professor Sinistra is doing here this evening?” he asked conversationally, and Daphne leapt to answer.

“I know she is a follower of the Old Ways, but that she doesn’t usually attend celebrations,” she said in a confidential whisper, “she prefers to celebrate privately, not with a bunch of children. She was at our Samhain festival in the dorms in first year, but I haven’t seen her since then. Some people are saying Professor Snape is spending a lot of time with her and must be courting her, but I don’t think that’s true – you just have to look at them to see he’s not interested in her that way. I think he just wants another teacher to help watch over the celebrations – he can never get to all of them, and having one large gathering carries too much risk of being noticed.”

Eventually the teachers moved over to Harry’s cluster of students, and Snape drew Harry away from the group of friends so that he could formally introduce Harry to Professor Sinistra – as Harold James Potter, Heir of the Noble House of Potter. Harry felt like they were at a ball, or something, and it seemed a bit silly. They already knew each other, so what was the point? Still, he followed the courtesies and bowed over her hand politely, murmuring what a pleasure it was to be introduced to her.

Professor Sinistra didn’t follow the script exactly right, however, and directed another incredulous look at Professor Snape, ignoring Harry for the moment.

“He has a lot of pure-blood Slytherin friends, Aurora. What did you expect?” he said with a thin smile in reply to her wordless question.

“He’s not like this in class!”

“Neither is someone like young Mr. Malfoy, yet out of the classroom he is usually a model of decorum.”

Harry huffed and looked sulky. He was standing _right there_ and they were ignoring him. “I know better,” he said defensively. “It’s been explained to me more than once that the Headmaster disapproves of formal etiquette that depends on rank or alliances – that he thinks it leads to fights, and is inequitable. Just because I don’t do it in class doesn’t mean I’m ignorant about the courtesies, it just means I’m discreet.”

Sinistra blinked in surprise again, and smiled. “Well, my apologies for my baseless assumptions, Potter. Let us have a little chat and get acquainted properly, then.” She settled down next to him on the grass, and stripped flowery twigs off hawthorn branches for him as he finished work on his wreath, weaving in the white May flowers and a selection of other more colourful flowers. Occasionally “helped” by Storm, who kept poking his snout at flowers until they fell off the wreath or their petals fell off – the game seemed to amuse him.

She asked him a bit about what he believed, and why he’d joined in learning about the Old Ways, and he chatted about learning how his father wasn’t Christian from his aunt, and his parents getting married on Beltane, and Pansy being his cousin, and just generally how it all felt _right_.

“And so your name is actually Harold? I didn’t know that,” she said conversationally.

“Yes, but I prefer Harry. Or Potter in class, of course. Umm, do you mind if I ask about your name? How you chose your Name of Power?” he asked carefully, not wanting to accidentally offend.

“I have no objection,” she reassured, “for it’s a question I’m often asked by a few new Arithmancy students every year. Obviously I chose a name that was propitious for an astronomer, back when I was an Apprentice. My birth name was Aurelia, which I changed to Aurora after the glorious display of northern lights we see sometimes in the sky here in Scotland, and of course the Latin word for the dawn. So it has two strong associations with the sky. My former family name was Sinclair, and I retained the first three consecutive letters of that name in the shift to Sinistra, which also ties to Latin as the language of spellcasting, evoking the meaning of ‘with a direction to the left’ – our magically powerful ritual direction of Widdershins. Which is, as I hope you know after three years of my classes, also the anticlockwise direction that most planets revolve in, as well as their direction around the sun. Sinistra is also a star name, from the constellation Ophiuchus. The final three letters of Sinclair – _air_ – also appear in Sinistra, but in a jumbled order.”

“Wow, you put a lot of thought into that.”

“And more besides. You may wish to consider looking into the many stories about the constellation of Ophiuchus – the Serpent Bearer – given your interest in snakes,” she suggested, with a glance at Storm who was coiled happily in Harry’s lap, watching students piling up wood for the bonfire.

Harry nodded thoughtfully and thanked her. He hadn’t ventured into the Astronomy section of the Hogwarts library when looking for information on snake legends when he’d first learnt about being a Parselmouth, but it seemed an obvious line of enquiry now she mentioned it.

She moved on to talk to a few other students, before she and Snape took their leave – they were going to visit the other years’ celebrations too.

“She’s a half-blood,” gossiped Daphne to Harry, when he asked about Sinistra’s family origins after she’d left, “her father is either a Muggle-born or a half-blood, but her mother is pure-blood. And she’s changed her name obviously. So that’s almost as good as being a pure-blood - there’s no real connection to the Muggle part of her family anymore.” It wasn’t exactly what Harry had been trying to ask about, but he listened with interest anyway. He hadn’t realised changing your name would mean anything for shifting perceptions of blood status.

“But there’s no connection to her magical family now either,” argued Tracey.

Daphne shrugged. “She is the founder of a new magical family now. Somewhat. And she is a former Slytherin, so that counts in her favour too, with many pure-bloods. Not that there’s anything _wrong_ with Gryffindor,” she added hastily, making Millicent and Tracey snicker.

“Don’t you recall what Professor Vector said though?” Millicent argued. “The whole point of carefully formulating a Name of Power includes linking it to your former name. So there’s still a strong connection there.”

Millicent, Tracey, and Daphne all got into a good-natured argument about the strength and meaning of the link to your former name, drawing in Midgen and Cornfoot into the argument as they were also doing Arithmancy.

Harry found it a bit beyond him, and leaving Storm to visit with Millicent, who patted his scaly hide absent-mindedly, he wandered off to join Draco, Greg and Crabbe at the bonfire. Draco was supervising, while the other boys were building up the fire under his direction. MacDougal and Nott were just standing around quietly and chatting nearby, both wearing their floral crowns. They looked more artistic than Harry’s – he was just satisfied that his hadn’t completely fallen apart yet.

Draco nodded politely to Harry as he approached. “It’s almost ready. I think we have a nice big blaze now, and I have sorted out the wetter branches so we don’t have so much smoke any more. In a minute I’ll add the Floo powder, and we can all walk through the flames.”

“Where to?” asked Harry. “Won’t we get caught?”

“Not to anywhere, really. Floo powder was originally just a kind of… ritual cleansing. I mean, your spirit was supposed to travel to Otherworld. But I don’t think anyone actually went anywhere.” He stopped and frowned as he thought about it. “Maybe some people did. I think a few people got lost. Anyway, eventually people discovered if you concentrated right you could travel to other Beltane fires, and the recipe was refined – we will be using a more ancient recipe this evening. Oh, and of course fireplaces were enchanted to encourage safe arrival – that changed things too.”

“Then the Ministry started regulating it,” Nott said, chiming in. “With the Floo Network.”

“Always sticking their noses in everything, father says,” agreed Draco. “They are just supposed to keep us safe from Muggles and ensure the Statute of Secrecy is maintained, but every year there are more and more things they think are their business to regulate and control.”

“Duels used to mean something,” complained Nott. “Now the Aurors handle theft, and assault, and any other petty grievances someone wants to complain about. And they’re increasingly intolerant of duels _at all_ , for that matter.”

“Well, what _should_ Aurors stick to, in your view?” asked Harry.

“They are _supposed_ to deal with only big things like murder or goblin uprisings, and wizards who endanger the Statute. While the Hitwizards and Obliviators deal with those things on the Muggle side,” Nott said.

“What do Hitwizards do, exactly?” Harry asked curiously.

“I think the bonfire’s ready,” interrupted Draco in a distracted tone of voice, sounding like he hadn’t really been following their conversation properly, as he looked assessingly at the fire. “Will you call everyone over, please?”

Draco and Pansy took turns giving a little speech about Beltane, sacred fires, the origins of Floo powder in ritual celebrations, and the significance of Hawthorn for wizards, witches, and fairies.

As everyone threw in a handful of powder the fire flared green, and the assembled students gave a big cheer. The green firelight illuminating the clearing gave the menhir an odd appearance, but Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on what the difference was.

After a dance in a ragged ring around the bonfire and the nearby menhir, with a new song for Harry and some of the others to learn, they took turns walking or running through the bonfire, and most people seemed to find it a lot of fun. Harry found it a bit nerve-wracking. He thought he _might_ have seen one of the fairies darting through the flames not come back again, but no-one else seemed to notice or worry. He had to uphold the Gryffindor standard of bravery, so he plastered on a confident grin and walked through the fire too. The licking flames felt oddly pleasant - like a warm breeze as he ran through it. The footing was a bit uncertain, but the eerie logs glowed with green fire too, and didn’t burn him either. He did get a lot of ash all over his boots, but that was the worst thing that happened.

Their ritual duty done, some students continued dancing, while others (Harry included) settled down to watch the flickering fire and chat while munching on oat and barley cakes.

“ _I liked the dancing_ ,” Storm hissed approvingly from Harry’s shoulders, “ _and going through the fire with you. It is a nice ssspecial fire. Can I sssit in it, Harold?_ ”

“Storm wants to know if he can curl up in the fire?” Harry asked. “Is it safe for him? I don’t want him to disappear by accident.”

Draco looked hesitant as he answered, “Well, I’m not completely sure it would be safe. Sometimes you get Ashwinders in a fire like this, if it burns for too long.”

“Oh, I read about those snakes,” Harry said. “I thought only the eggs were dangerous, because of how they were and how they could start fires? The Ashwinders themselves didn’t sound aggressive.”

“It’s not that,” Draco said, “it’s that it might mean snakes can travel through Floos easily.”

“Where do the Ashwinders come from anyway?” asked Tracey.

“From inside volcanoes, is the popular theory,” said Draco. “They certainly die quickly once they are out of the heat of the fire.”

“But it’s not even that warm once the Floo powder is added,” Tracey argued politely.

“ _You’re ignoring me again_ ,” Storm hissed unhappily, poking Harry’s cheek with his snout.

“ _Not the fire because it might not be sssafe for you, but you can curl up on the menhir if you like_ ,” Harry suggested. “ _Wave goodbye to everyone, now_. Bye!”

Harry waved his hand at Storm, who waved his tail in the air in response.

“Oh, that’s so cute!” Pansy squealed. “Is he really waving goodbye to us?”

“Yup,” Harry said proudly. “We worked on that as a little trick for him to do, like you suggested.” Storm slithered off to coil up at the base of the menhir, watching the bonfire intently.

“I liked your stories about hawthorn you told,” Tracey said to Pansy, “and its association with fairies. They’re certainly enjoying flitting around our wreaths, and the fire. It seems there’s a lot of tree and creature lore that doesn’t seem to be written down?”

Pansy looked pleased by the question. “Well, some of it is written down, but that doesn’t mean it’s in the Hogwarts library. Hawthorn is respected as a magical tree – well in magical areas, obviously. Not in Muggle areas. You often find it next to sacred wells, like a guard. It has a strong association with the Otherworld, and you’ll often find fairies hiding in the branches. Some stories say Merlin was once trapped in a hawthorn by a witch he was courting, and that his staff was made of hawthorn wood. The wood is traditional for Maypoles, and May flowers are traditional for bridal wreaths, and good in potions for fertility and anything to do with happiness.”

“So it would be ethereal, and fire associated, as its ingredient properties?” Nott asked Draco, checking his understanding.

“That’s right,” Draco said with a nod.

“Merlin’s staff was rowan, not hawthorn,” Harry said.

Pansy looked startled. “What?”

“You said Merlin’s staff was hawthorn, but it was actually sacred rowan wood,” he repeated patiently.

“I hadn’t heard that,” said Nott, sounding intrigued.

“Where did you read that?” asked Tracey.

 _Oops_. Harry remembered a little late that he only knew that fact from conversations with Ambrosius’ mosaic. Merlin himself obviously knew what his staff was made of, but he couldn’t admit that to the others.

“I don’t recall exactly. It might have been in uh… _Historia Brittonum_ or the _Historia Regum Britanniae_. Maybe.”

“I haven’t seen those books in the history section,” Tracey said curiously.

“They’re in Latin. I don’t know if Hogwarts has them,” Harry said, remembering just in time that _in theory_ people like Nott didn’t know he spent Yule at Malfoy manor, and thus he shouldn’t mention the Malfoy library.

Professor Sinistra returned not long after that to magically extinguish their fire. Vials of bonfire ash were distributed to all the students who were interested before they left, for using later in potion making or creative rituals of their own, and with a few waves of her wand she magically cleaned up the clearing to erase signs of their presence.

“It’s a shame,” sighed Millicent. “At home we keep our wreaths – to decorate the house, or the garden. Or you put it under your pillow, in hopes of Seeing who you’ll marry. Mother has one under preservation charms that she wore to a dance she went to with father when they were young. Here we have to get rid of them in case someone sees them. Well, at least the fairies are having fun.” The little creatures were snatching up loose blossoms to carry away as the wreaths were pulled apart – only the twisted vines and branches from the centre of the wreaths were being magically vanished by Sinistra.

Soon it was like they’d never been there at all, and they quietly left the clearing, each giving the menhir a farewell pat as they left, like it was a sleepy grandparent you didn’t want to disturb as you finished your visit, but couldn’t bear to leave without some affectionate farewell gesture.

-000-

On the second Sunday in May, on his way to the club room for the last Potter Watch meeting for the year, Harry unexpectedly ran across an altercation in the halls.

Draco was standing menacingly over a young boy, probably a first year by the size of him, while Greg and Crabbe stood nearby.

“…and you’ll act with more respect for your betters, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy sniffled quietly.

“Draco, what’s going on?” said Harry, frowning at the scene.

“This little Mu…ggle-born thought he could just shove his way through the halls. I am giving him a quick lesson in learning his place,” sneered Draco. Clearly his first thought was to call him a “Mudblood”, which gave Harry a good idea about what was going on.

“I didn’t shove! I just didn’t see you there!” cried the boy. “I _said_ I was sorry for bumping into you!”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you just let him go? It sounds like it was an accident.”

“Why do you care Harry? Do you know this runt?” Draco said, sounding genuinely confused.

“No, I don’t.”

“He is just a little ‘Puff  firstie, of no consequence to anyone,” rumbled Crabbe. “Why would you care about a stupid ‘Puff?”

“I _like_ Hufflepuff,” said Harry stiffly. “Loyalty and patience are admirable, hard-work is valued everywhere, and who doesn’t like making friends?”

“You shouldn’t argue with Draco in public,” worried Greg.

Harry nodded and turned to the kid, who was looking with wonder at Harry. “Go on, get out of here. Just remember to watch where you’re going in future, and to apologise properly if you bump into someone.”

“Yes, sir!” he said, eyeing the Slytherins warily as he scuttled off quickly while the going was good.

“I was handling it just fine on my own,” complained Draco after the boy had left.

“No, you _weren’t_.”

They walked in silence together to the meeting, both wary of arguing with each other any further and harming their friendship.

-000-

“Hello everyone! Welcome to the final Potter Watch meeting for the year!” Harry said to the crowded club room crammed full of students from all three Potter Watch groups. “There won’t be any meetings at the end of May or in June, as our senior students in particular need to concentrate on studying for their exams.”

A first year raised their hand to ask, “Can we still show up to practice if we want?”

“Yes,” replied Harry, “but there won’t be anyone to supervise you if you run into trouble, so keep that in mind. Just book the room if you want it.

“May I extend a particular welcome to our guests today, Professors Snape and Flitwick, who’ve kindly showed up just so we can all show off what great progress we’ve made this year in learning defensive charms and counter-charms.”

There was a polite round of applause, and Snape nodded courteously while Flitwick waved happily at everyone from where he was standing on top of a chair.

“I know it’s crowded, and we’re all excited to demonstrate what we’ve been working on. And I know we’ve got more than a few people who’ve been practising their Patronus Charms in secret just for today – I’m really keen to see what you can do! Just remember we have to wait and take turns, so be patient, alright?”

The junior group went first, demonstrating their skills with the Knockback Jinx, the Leg-Locker Curse and its counter-curse, the Sparks Charm, and the Locking Spell and its counter-charm. Some of them were clearly better than others, but everyone had at least one spell they felt confident performing in front of the large crowd. They got a loud round of applause from their efforts, and Professor Flitwick squeaked, “Marvellous! Marvellous work!”

The middle group demonstrated the Disarming and Shield Charms, and showed off their Summoning Charms on a pile of cushions, which was wise as a few cushions went astray and flew into people.

The cushion pile was reassembled for the senior group’s demonstration, and a few people from the middle group (including Harry, Hermione, Draco, and Midgen) showed off their Stunning Spells and expertise with the counter-charm, knocking their opponents into the cushion pile. Then the younger and less accomplished students stood aside as the best seniors showed off a few extra spells they’d been working on, including the Substantive Charm that calmed an aggressive opponent down, or worked as a counter against mind-affecting spells (providing a grounding effect). A few NEWT students showed off their skills at casting some easy spells non-verbally, with proud looks in Professor Snape’s direction, eliciting impressed gasps and applause from the watching crowd of students. Professor Snape deigned to clap for those students, and while Harry couldn’t hear from across the room, by the way Snape’s lips were moving he suspected more than a few points were being quietly awarded to Slytherin, and a tiny amount to the other proficient students’ Houses.

Harry stood up on a chair to get attention once everyone had finished applauding the seniors. “Alright everyone! Are we ready for the big show?!”

There was a chorus of cheers.

“Time to show off our Patroni! Move to the sides if you can’t do more than mist, and everyone who thinks they can manage a corporeal Patronus, form a line!”

“Severus, did you hear that? ‘Can’t do more than mist’ he says, as if that’s not remarkable enough!” Professor Flitwick said excitedly. “Did you know about this? Look at how many students are lining up! Half the third years are there! I think there’s even a couple of second years who look like they’re going to give it a try!”

“I gave a lecture on the topic at a meeting earlier this year,” Snape said smugly, “and two students managed to manifest a Patronus right away. Superior tuition can accomplish much. You don’t push your students hard enough, Filius – you let the lazy ones get away with slacking off.”

“And yet _who_ has the largest NEWT classes for his subject?” Flitwick countered.

The two continued bickering genially enough, but cut off as soon as the first student cast their Patronus.

Peregrine Derrick’s crisply manifested eagle started things off, and he grinned proudly at the loud applause. “Thank you!”

Gemma Farley showed off her silvery boar. “ ‘ _Avito viret honore_ ’ – he flourishes through the honour of his ancestors,” she said proudly. “The boar is on our family crest.”

To Storm’s loud hisses of delight from Harry’s shoulders, Montague’s Patronus turned out to be a snake. “ _Look, Harold! A sssnake! He called a sssnake ssspirit to him! Who is that clever-man? He is very sssmart. He has a sssnake ssspirit – you should have one to watch over you too. You could ask him for advice_.” Harry promised to translate his praise for Montague later.

Flint sat out the demonstration – he wasn’t the only one who had to, even amongst the seniors.

Diggory showed off his horse, and the Hufflepuffs went wild with cheering and some shrill piercing whistles, and Snape took points off them to settle them down.

A couple of senior Ravenclaws got animals to manifest, and very enthusiastic applause from Professor Flitwick.

Gryffindor students let out a loud cheer as the Weasley twins stepped up as the first Gryffindors to have a go. “We’ve got the same Patroni, so we’re going together!” they announced in unison. Two playful ferrets manifested, looking identical as they tussled with each other and scampered briefly around the room before dissipating.

Angelina Johnson was next. “You’re going to like this!” she yelled cheerfully to the crowd, and a silvery Griffin sprang forth as she shouted the incantation confidently.

The riotous babble of excited comments and enthusiastic cheers were even louder than the Hufflepuff’s reaction to Diggory’s Patronus. She couldn’t hold the spell long, but that probably wasn’t helped by one of the Weasley twins clapping her on the back excitedly.

“A magical creature! Wow!”

“It’s a Griffin! Johnson got a G _riffin!_ ”

“Did you _see_ that?”

“ ‘ _Nunquam non paratus_ ’ –  never unprepared. The Griffin is on our coat of arms!” Johnson said proudly. “Mum wrote to me about it at Easter, and then I _finally_ got the charm to work right! And I _am_ a Gryffindor, after all.”

Percy showed off his weasel Patronus as the final senior student, and looked a bit grumpy at the somewhat lacklustre applause in comparison – it just wasn’t as impressive as a _Griffin_.

Harry called for a round of applause for all the senior students, and then it was the middle group’s turn to do their best attempts at the Patronus Charm. Luna from Ravenclaw and Zacharias Smith from Hufflepuff were the only two students from the junior group who lined up with them to have a go as well.

Harry’s Hippocampus started things off to enthusiastic applause, and Hermione followed him with her otter Patronus.

“You didn’t tell me you got it!” Harry said to her, startled and impressed.

“I wanted to surprise you!” she said with a grin. “I’ve been working on it all month, every single day. My father said the Granger family only has a heraldic association with wheat, which wasn’t much help. So I just tried to focus on being welcoming to whatever wanted to show up, thinking about my blob of mist with legs I’ve gotten in the past, and finally I got this adorable little otter just last week! Isn’t she _cute_? And otters are very smart animals, you know – they’re a tool-using species.”

Tracey and Finch-Fletchley both had snake Patroni, to Storm’s ecstatic approval. Tracey seemed prouder of her accomplishment than Finch-Fletchley did.

Chang’s graceful swan Patronus swam around the room and got a decorous round of applause.

MacDougal from Ravenclaw got a lion, and a murmur of speculation from Gryffindors in the crowd as to whether she’d been a Hatstall.

“ ‘ _A Lion Passant Gardant Proper’_ – it’s on my family crest, morons!” she said crossly. Professor Flitwick took five points off his own House for language, and she apologised to everyone.

It was hard to tell what bird Nott had manifested, as it was so small and flew around the room so quickly.

“What have you got there?” Professor Flitwick called out across the room. “A bird from the Nott family crest, perhaps?”

“Yes, sir. ‘ _Two mascles fessewise interlaced argent, thereon a martlet gules, Ducally gorged or, holding in the beak a sprig of laurel proper._ ’ ”

Snape and a few Slytherin and Ravenclaw students nodded, but a lot of the room looked just as puzzled as they had been before, and as Nott’s bird faded away they couldn’t even look at it any more to try and guess what it was.

He sighed and explained it slowly in plain English. “Our crest has a red martlet, or swift, wearing a gold collar and with some bay leaves in its beak, sitting on two silver squares that link like a chain. My Patronus is a martlet.”

Draco was next, and Harry thought he looked rather grumpy about it. His Patronus turned out to also be a snake. “It just seems so _common_ with so many other people, some _Muggle-born_ , calling forth snakes,” he complained quietly afterwards to Harry. “I wanted a wyvern, but snakes _are_ on my family crest too, and there’s nothing _wrong_ with snakes, after all.”

“Storm thinks you’re very smart and a wizard of great taste and sense for having a snake spirit guardian,” Harry translated, which seemed to bring Draco a little comfort.

“At least it’s not a peacock,” he sighed. “Mother suggested I try for that when I couldn’t call a wyvern even though it’s on our family crest. She likes peacocks.”

Susan Bones was the last from the middle group to go, having hid shyly at the back. “Don’t… don’t worry about my Patronus,” she said a little anxiously to the watching Hufflepuffs and other students. “I just want to explain in advance that it’s my family’s animal, and has been for centuries. So… that’s all it means, alright?”

The skeletal horse that reared briefly in the air before blinking out of existence startled more than a few people. Snape even raised his eyebrows briefly, from the shock of it.

“It was a Thestral,” Bones explained. “They’re really quite friendly. Um.” She trailed off, and moved to the back of the crowd of third years in embarrassment. People didn’t seem to know whether to be impressed she’d manifested a magical creature, or disturbed by its nature, but Professor Flitwick called for applause for her and all the other middle group students, and that took care of the awkward silence quite nicely.

“Well done, Bones,” Harry said politely, getting a shy smile out of her.

The last two and youngest students took their turns. Smith’s brash confidence didn’t carry him through when it came to the crunch, he only made a thin blob of mist that dissipated quickly.

“Nice mist!” someone called out with a snicker, from the safe anonymity of the middle of a crowd of students pushed to the edges of the club room.

“I got a snake,” he said crossly. “Once. Just not today.”

Luna looked over at where Harry and Hermione and their friends were standing, and stared at them for a while, smiling absent-mindedly.

“Are you going to even try?” Smith asked her snidely. “At least I gave it a go.”

“Oh, yes, I’m ready now,” she said dreamily. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

A silvery hare looked like it jumped straight out of the end of her wand, vibrant and shining. It sat quietly at Luna’s feet, paws rubbing at its face and ears.

“It’s adorable!” Daphne squealed. “Look at the little bunny!”

“Look at our little pet Ravenclaw,” Millicent said proudly. “She’s doing better than us, and she’s only in second year! You picked a good one there, Harry.”

Professor Flitwick had fallen off his chair he was so surprised, and rushed over to shake Luna’s hand so enthusiastically that she could barely stay on her feet.

“I just practised and practised,” she explained, to students eager to know her “secret”. “Harry said it was important, and I heard about his Seer vision of the Dementors attacking. I know it already happened and I was too late learning the charm to help, but if he said it was important to learn I knew I should focus on it. In case the Lemures attacked again. So I stopped going to History classes and practiced my Patronus Charm instead.”

Flitwick sighed disappointedly. “You can’t miss classes, Miss Lovegood.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t miss it at all. It was a nice change actually, not to have to be stuck in Binns’ classroom. It was always full of Wrackspurts.”

“We’ll discuss it later,” he said paternally, while a couple of students snickered quietly in the background. “Still, excellent Charms work! Twenty points to Ravenclaw for your very precious mastery of the Patronus Charm!”

“Ten points from Ravenclaw for skipping History of Magic classes,” Snape countered.

Flitwick looked irritated, but let it stand.

Perhaps they argued about it after they’d left. As they shut the door behind them Harry wondered if teachers had a “no arguing in public” rule like the Slytherins did.

The Hufflepuffs didn’t seem have a rule _exactly_ like that – but they really didn’t seem keen on public disputes either (unlike Gryffindors who didn’t mind them at all). A little argument amongst some of them seemed to be turning into a big one, and Cedric Diggory (as a Hufflepuff prefect) strode swiftly over to intervene amongst the younger students who were bickering with each other.

“What’s all this then, badgers?” he said concernedly. Harry sidled over to discreetly listen in, and Draco and Pansy followed him.

“Ernie said it was weird I had a snake Patronus!” Finch-Fletchley whined to Diggory.

“I didn’t say _weird_ , I said it was a bit _odd_ ,” Ernie claimed.

“And how did that make you feel, when he said that?” Diggory asked patiently.

“Really hurt,” Finch-Fletchley admitted. “Ernie’s one of my best friends, and I feel like he should be more supportive of me.”

“Ernie, do you want to share how you’re feeling right now? Why are you so uncomfortable that Justin has a snake Patronus?”

“I guess it just seems odd because it’s the Slytherin House animal. And maybe I’m a bit jealous, because I didn’t get anything at all,” Ernie admitted with a sigh. “I would have liked a badger.”

“I didn’t get a badger either, do any of you think that makes me not a proper Hufflepuff?” Diggory asked.

“No!” said a chorus of young voices.

“Lots of people got snakes today, who didn’t have an animal strongly associated with their family. Do you think maybe that’s why Justin got a snake?”

“I guess that makes sense,” Ernie said. “I’m sorry, Justin. I really do think you belong in Hufflepuff, you know.”

“That’s alright. I know you didn’t really mean to hurt me.”

“Does anyone else have something they need to share with the circle?” Diggory said, looking around at the ragged cluster of Hufflepuffs.

“I felt unappreciated and judged when people didn’t clap much for my Thestral,” Bones said quietly. “I worked really hard at mastering the Patronus Charm.”

“Well I think your Patronus was great, Susan!” Diggory said cheerfully, which seemed to perk her up. “People were a bit shocked at first and we can’t help that, but we know you’re a fabulous and hard-working witch, don’t we?” The murmur of approval and praise dropped away the last bit of residual tension from Bones’ shoulders.

“So it doesn’t really matter what animal we get, does it?” Diggory concluded. “Or even if we don’t get one at all. Zacharias didn’t manage to get one today, but he worked hard at his practices, and he tried his best today. And that’s what matters the most.”

“You’ll get your snake next time for sure, Smith!” Bones said encouragingly.

“Alright friends, time for a Hufflehug!” said Diggory with a laugh, and they all leaned in close for a big group hug.

“Badgers!” they cried out cheerfully together as they broke apart, and started milling around saying their farewells to everyone before leaving the club room.

Harry muttered to Pansy in bewilderment, “They… _hug_ their problems away. And give pep talks. And talk honestly about their feelings in front of _everyone_.”

Draco and Pansy snickered in amused derision. “I know, weird isn’t it?” Pansy said. “I’m glad I’m not in Hufflepuff. Mind you, I’m also glad I’m not in Gryffinbore where you yell, duel, and or prank your troubles away, or in Ravenclaw where they research and talk their problems to death, if they don’t simply ignore issues in the first place because they’re just not as _important_ as books. Slytherin really is the best.” Draco nodded in agreement.

“What do Slytherins do to solve their problems? Stereotypically?” Harry asked curiously.

Draco said thoughtfully, “I suppose it would be fair to say we tend to be pretty political… cunning if you will. It’s all about trading favours and about who you know. Who can you get to help with your problem, and what it will cost you. Ideally it should cost you as little as possible while manipulating the other party into feeling _grateful_ for the opportunity to assist you.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably as the description hit a little too close to home, reminding him a little of how he’d talked Hermione into sharing her Time-Turner, amongst other occasions.

“It’s better than hugging your problems away, you have to agree,” Draco added defensively.

Harry nodded. “Definitely,” he said in muttered agreement with a sidelong glance at two hugging Hufflepuffs, making Draco smile. The display of hugging and cheerful encouragement for students to open up and talk through their problems together and share their feelings made Harry really understand on a gut level that maybe the Sorting Hat had been right about him not being suited for Hufflepuff. He just wasn’t used to any of that.

Clearly not everyone found it as disturbing and sickeningly sweet as he did. Chang, the pretty Ravenclaw, seemed to find it adorable, and was watching Diggory admiringly and giggling with her friends.

-000-

Sometimes Harry forgot that people talked about him when he wasn’t around. With more fame came more attention, and that meant gossip.

Word had clearly trickled down from someone who’d gone to Beltane with him that Harry was self-studying to be a Healer, and had a bag of potions and medical supplies prepped for emergencies. For one evening in late May, one of the Weasley twins barged into the third years’ dorm and dragged Harry away from his correspondence and his boring English assignment on the use of metaphors in epitaphs he’d been putting off for far too long. Judging by his anxious face Harry guessed it was something urgent.

“We need a favour,” he said, “and I don’t have time to explain. Just grab your wand and Healer bag, and follow me. Please, it’s urgent.”

“How did you know-” Harry started.

“George is doing what he can, but we’re in trouble!” interrupted Fred. “Quickly! It’s life and death!”

“But Madam Pomfrey-” Harry started, throwing open his trunk lid with a bang. He rummaged inside and pulled out his old worn Muggle backpack that he’d filled with some of his most useful potions and some bandages a while ago in preparation for Beltane.

“No time for that! We’ve got to run, follow me!”

Fred dragged him upstairs to the fifth year boys’ dorm, where Lee Jordan was lying on the ground, with a purple slimy thing protruding from his gaping mouth like some horrible monstrous tentacle. His eyes rolled in panic, as he desperately tried to snort in enough air through his nose, and clung to George’s leg. George seemed to have given up on casting spells, as his wand lay discarded on the ground, and he seemed to be trying to physically squash the purple thing down enough to dribble a potion down the boy’s throat, but he couldn’t even make enough room for that, and the potion just dribbled off the tentacle and spilled onto the floor.

“What on earth is _that_?!” Harry cried as he entered.

“You found him!” cried George in relief.

Fred nodded, and turned to Harry. “It’s his tongue – it’s just swollen. It’s a new sweet we’ve been working on, the Ton-Tongue Toffee. It’s supposed to make your tongue swell so you can’t talk properly, or cast spells. But not _this_ much!”

“He can hardly breathe – you have to do something!” said George. Lee’s dark brown eyes looked pleadingly at Harry.

“Did you try any counter-charms?” Harry asked. “Like for the Engorgement Charm?”

“Yes, we tried everything already,” said George.

Harry jogged over to stand next to Lee, drawing his wand. “Which counter-charms exactly have you tried?”

“Reducio, Diminuendo, Finite, and Finite Incantatem,” George listed quickly. “But it’s a potion-based sweet, so Lee’s tongue just grew again in seconds!”

Harry nodded thoughtfully, trying not to panic at Lee’s choking sounds of impaired breathing. Reducio and Diminuendo were good Shrinking Charms to counter the Engorgement Charm, but there was a specific counter-charm for the more powerful and persistent Engorgement Hex that it sounded like they hadn’t tried yet. He’d looked it up after hearing from Snape about the hilarious “prank” his father had pulled with Black on a Slytherin to enlarge a boy’s skull. Technically, as the counter-charm shrunk a body part (potentially very dangerously), it was a hex. But a very useful counter for this situation.

“Hold _very_ still, Jordan,” Harry warned, “you _really_ don’t want this to miss. And hold his mouth open, please. Don’t close it until the spell is done, alright?” Fred rushed over to join George in holding Jordan’s head and jaw still.

“ _Redactum lingua!_ ” incanted Harry, pointing his wand directly at Lee’s face. A beam of red light struck his tongue, which instantly started to shrink. Harry maintained his focus until the tongue had shrunk back into his mouth, and he took a gasp of air.

“Oh, sweet air! Thank you!” he said, panting as he sat up, patting his still-purple tongue worriedly.

“Brilliant!” said Fred, sounding very relieved.

“How are you feeling, Lee?” asked George. “That looks good – is it lasting?”

“It’s not over yet,” warned Harry. “It might last longer, but this counter-charm will probably wear off too. I need a bucket.”

“Will a chamber pot do? It’s empty and clean,” said Fred, fetching a porcelain pot from under his bed.

“Perfect,” said Harry. “Lean over the pot, Jordan. You won’t like this, but it’s important.”

He obediently took the chamber pot off Fred, and said, “Why? What are you-”

“ _Vomitare viridis!_ ” Harry incanted quickly, and a haze of green light from his wand hit Jordan. The instantly nauseating effect made Jordan groan, and vomit spewed from his mouth in a sickening green stream all over the chamber pot, and also all over George’s robes.

“Eww,” said George, disgusted. “Your aim is rubbish, Lee. You’ve got spew all over my arm! This is why you never made Chaser. Aim for the pot, man!”

Jordan turned his head deliberately away from the pot and vomited directly at George’s face, provoking disgusted cries from George as he leapt away from Lee, and hysterical laughter from Fred, who kept a safe distance.

After a good amount of the contents of his stomach had been puked up, Harry cast the counter-curse to the Emetic Curse, and Jordan groaned unhappily. “That. Was. _Nasty_. I hope there was a damn good reason for that Merlin-cursed spell.”

“It got the potion-laced sweet out of your stomach. So the effect shouldn’t recur.”

George was casting cleaning charms on his own face, and Fred laughed at his swearing as soap bubbles stung his eyes. George flicked a spew-covered hand at his brother, splattering his robe with virulently green bile. “Now we can match again,” he said smugly. “Come on brother mine, don’t you want a hug?” He opened his arms wide with a big welcoming grin, and Fred dodged away.

“No, no, hugs later! _Scourgify!_ ” he cried, defensively shooting the Scouring Charm at his brother.

Harry rolled his eyes. “ _Tergeo!_ ” he incanted, and the more specific liquid-removing spell siphoned the vomit off George and into the chamber pot.

Eventually they settled down, and the three of them headed off as a group to see Madam Pomfrey for a proper check-up, at Harry’s insistence.

“We won’t forget your help,” Fred said, shaking his hand vigorously.

George did too, and Harry tried not to think about how his hand had been covered in vomit a minute ago. “Thank you, o noble Mr. Potter of the Noblest of Noble Houses of Potter and Slytherin,” George said with mock sincerity.

Jordan gave him a brief bow. “You saved my life. I owe you-”

“-Nothing,” Harry interrupted. “Healers don’t accept life debts from people they save through their healing. I may as well get in the habit now.”

“Well then,” he said with a toothy grin, “I will just generally owe you one. Thanks, Apprentice Healer Potter.”

“Maybe that title will fit one day,” Harry said with a smile, “I do like that one. And you’re very welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The “Hufflehug” concept comes from a panel in a Hufflepuff-centric cartoon by Emily McGovern, in the “My Life as a Background Slytherin” webcomic series.  
> Sigfried – No snake Patronus for Percy, I’m afraid. I gave it a lot of thought, and decided in the end to go with the traditional Weasley family animal. The weasel has that deceptively harmless appearance, and ambitious and tenacious streak to its nature that I thought suited him well. In addition there is the appeal of having a Patronus associated with his family, like some of the other pure-bloods in the group.  
> Iron_Dragon_Maiden – Thanks for the brainstorming about Patroni.  
> LokiFirefox - Thanks for the inspiration on how to best express the Slytherin approach to problem solving. Also, there’s plenty of snake Patroni to keep you and Storm happy. :)  
> AnnaDruvez – Thanks for sharing your thoughts on Beltane.


	31. The Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius’ trial has a few hiccups, but the children are determined to see justice done… one way or another. They have a plan.

**_1 st June 1994_ **

Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Neville all had the whole day off school on the first of June to attend Sirius’ trial. Sirius had handed himself in to the Aurors two days prior, not without some anxiety on his part, but all seemed to be going well and he’d been permitted to send a quick note to Harry saying so.

Neville would be wearing some slightly-too-large plain black formal robes his Gran had sent to Hogwarts especially for the occasion, while Hermione and Harry were planning to wear school robes and pointed hats like Ron was, though theirs were in better condition. Harry had at first been considering wear his purple formal robes with gold embroidery, but when Pansy had quizzed him earlier about his planned outfit she’d insisted they weren’t suitable.

“Wizengamot members will be wearing plum robes. Wearing purple to a court case presided over by them looks pretentious,” she’d pronounced with a roll of her eyes, as if he should’ve already known that and was a bit of an idiot to boot.

She’d also swiftly shot down his suggestion of his scarlet outfit with the dragonskin frock coat that Sirius had sent him as being “much too casual”, leaving him frustrated with what to wear. Draco in particular amongst the Slytherins seemed horrified at Hermione’s idea of _loaning_ clothes to people, and while Greg didn’t mind it in principle, there was a very simple problem with that plan – nothing would fit as he was both taller and bulkier than Harry. They discussed charming some old robes of his dad’s to fit, but worried that the spells might wear off, or be removed as part of the security procedures for the trial. Draco and Daphne fretted about him making a “bad impression” but conceded there wasn’t time to get new robes. (They didn’t seem so worried about Hermione’s plan to wear school robes.)

However, at the last minute on the evening before the trial, some shrunken black formal robes arrived by owl delivery – a present from Sirius that was much appreciated, that must have been ordered a week ago when Harry wrote to Sirius worrying about his outfit (amongst other bits of chatter). When Harry dressed on the morning of the first of June in his new robes with the Potter crest embroidered over the breast, he felt very smart indeed. And he wore his Heir ring openly on his right hand, instead of tucking it away as a fob weight for his watch.

Neville eyed his ring dolefully. “Gran won’t give me mine yet – she says I would just lose it, and that I am too young. I can have it when I turn seventeen, apparently. When I shall be the Regent, so it won’t really matter any longer.”

Early on the morning of the trial, Harry, Neville, Hermione, and Ron all trooped to the Headmaster’s office, as they were going to travel from there to the Ministry.

“Have you got your bag?” Neville asked Hermione, with a knowing look. She nodded with a firm and serious expression, patting her bulging shoulder bag of books and supplies as proof.

“What’s in there, anyway?” Ron asked curiously.

“A few things that might be useful. Some books about past trials and laws that might come in handy, parchment and some quills, some sandwiches, and a bottle of pumpkin juice,” Hermione said with a mysterious smile.

Mrs. Weasley was in the Headmaster’s office when they arrived there to travel to the Ministry, and hugged Ron tightly to her ample chest. “How are you, Ron dear? Not nervous about the trial today, I hope?”

“Mum, gerroff! I’m fine!” he said, pushing her away and blushing in embarrassment.

“Your father has to work, but I’m coming along to watch over you children today. Tch. Is this the cleanest school robe you have?” she asked him, casting a quick spell to remove a smear of dried egg yolk from one sleeve.

“Muuum!” he cried in protest. Harry and the others, even Dumbledore, just looked amused at his predicament. “That’s just from breakfast! It’s clean!”

“Aren’t you going to be supervising us, Headmaster?” asked Hermione.

“Alas no, I shall be busy attending in my capacity as a witness,” he said gravely.

“Dreadful business, you losing your position as Chief Warlock,” fretted Mrs. Weasley, conjuring a brush and attacking Ron’s hair while he sighed unhappily and succumbed to her ministrations. “I don’t know anything about this Pius Thicknesse who’s taken your place. Will he do a good job?”

“Some sacrifices are worth the cost,” Dumbledore said, with a quick sidelong smile at Harry that was happily returned by him, “and I have every confidence in Thicknesse. He has spent a handful of years in Wizengamot Administrative Services, and another dozen years as an Auror, so he has a good background for the role. He is a solid, reliable man of firm morals, and I am sure he shall do a prodigiously fine job, Molly.”

Harry’s ever-tidy hair met with Mrs. Weasley’s approval and so did Neville’s, so they were off the hook, but Hermione’s perpetually frizzy hair meant she wasn’t so lucky.

“Molly, the Portkey,” tutted Dumbledore, as she gained Hermione’s permission to “just tie it back _very quickly_ ” and started waving her wand to cast a number of charms on it to force it to settle down into sleek compliance, and conjured a red hair ribbon to tie it back.

“And done,” she pronounced with satisfaction in fairly short order. Hermione patted at her hair gingerly, startled to find the usual bushiness gone. Harry thought Ron was staring at her rather oddly – it was a bit rude.

Dumbledore shook his head with a sigh. “It shall all be undone soon enough. Remember, they check for spells and potions on witnesses as well as the accused, and counter them all.”

Mrs. Weasley deflated. “Oh, no, I didn’t know that. What a shame. Sorry, dear,” she said to Hermione.

“That’s alright. My testimony is what matters, not my hair. And I’ve been researching wizarding law – it will go great.”

“I’ve never taken a Portkey before,” Harry said nervously, as a chipped old enamelled tin tea tray was held out by the Headmaster for everyone to take a hold of.

“I haven’t either,” said Hermione, sounding very curious.

“Just hold tight,” advised Mrs. Weasley.

“You must not let go during the journey or you risk serious injury,” Dumbledore added, “and you may experience some nausea or dizziness on arrival. That is quite normal.”

“But how does it work, exactly?” Hermione asked the adults, holding onto the tea tray as Dumbledore counted down the seconds until it would trigger. “Is it like Apparition – and how can that work through the wards at Hogwarts which guard against that? Is it truly instantaneous travel or is there a delay? Is it travelling at light speed? And why does it make you nauseous? What happens to our bodies?”

“Goodness me!” said Mrs. Weasley with a cheerful laugh, startled at the barrage of questions directed at her. “With that many questions about how magic works I can see you’d have a fine future in the Unspeakables.”

Neville clutched the tea tray tightly with both hands as the Headmaster’s countdown reached ten.

“I haven’t heard much about that Department. What do they do exactly-” Hermione started curiously, but was cut off as the world disappeared and reformed around her.

With a powerful yanking sensation somewhere behind his navel dragging him away from the world, and an ache in his head, Harry found the ground disappearing beneath his feet, and all he could see was a swirl of colours and a rush of wind. His hand felt glued to the tea tray like he’d have trouble letting go of it even if he wanted to

Arriving in the Ministry Atrium, Harry’s feet hit the ground so hard his knees buckled, and he held on tightly to the tea tray as it shifted about, his grip on it suddenly no longer so certain.

“You can let go now, Harry dear,” said Mrs. Weasley, who’d managed to remain standing on arrival.

“I think I’m going to throw up. And I’ve got a splitting headache,” he said faintly, letting go of the tray and rubbing at his scar unhappily.

A Ministry worker tugged the tray from Neville’s still-tight grip and placed it in a large basket full of miscellaneous items like shoes and soft drink bottles.

The children walked off their nausea, and then it was time to go to the lower levels of the Ministry for the trial.

“Potter,” said Dumbledore gravely and quietly to Harry as they walked down a corridor deep in the bowels of the Ministry, letting the others pull ahead of them a little, “the time has come for Sirius’ trial. And I hope you understand that I am not the final arbiter, and I cannot by any means guarantee the outcome. For without Pettigrew himself to stand as evidence or a witness to prove Sirius’ innocence, his freedom is not certain. I have done everything I can. _Everything_. Made bargains, promises, sacrifices. To see your godfather free. To see justice done the way it should have been in the first place. You _do_ understand that, I hope.”

“Yes sir,” Harry said, with an appreciative nod, “I do appreciate it, really I do – you’ve really worked hard to make up for your mistake. And I’ve done what I can too. But surely, with Pensieve memories, he’ll be let free in the end?”

Dumbledore sighed sadly. “Memories can be altered or obscured.”

“That’s not in the literature!”

“Naturally not. Such practices are illegal. Yet that does not mean they are completely unknown. Black will be suspected of them. Veritaserum too has its counters.”

Harry dragged his feet worriedly. “I thought it was practically a sure thing now.”

“Time will tell. I have done everything I can, despite Black being unwilling for me to speak for him, even were I permitted. I have advocated for him with dozens of Wizengamot members, and Ministry officials. I have located and gathered witnesses and testimony for him to utilise – the Aurors who saw the confrontation where Pettigrew escaped, and two witnesses who knew Pettigrew was a rat Animagus at school. I’ve paid for a Healer to tend him to get him as fit for trial as we can. I believe he has an excellent chance! Strong heart, now!”

“Hermione has a plan,” Harry said, recovering his optimism, “she’s done a lot of research and preparation too, as much as she could spare from studying. I have as well. We’ll do what we can to help in there too, if inspiration strikes. And I know there’s lots of supporters for a fair trial in the Wizengamot. We’ll be fine.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Dumbledore, with a companionable smile.

-000-

It was the middle of the trial. Harry and his friends had already given their testimony, after being checked for spells and potions – with a wave of a court attendant’s wand the ribbon had vanished and Hermione’s hair had suddenly sprung into frizziness like she had rubbed it with a balloon, eliciting a few snickers from the crowd.

Now Sirius was being questioned for a second time, sitting uncomfortably on the enchanted wooden chair, grey chains wrapped around him. Up until now, everything had gone quite well. Harry thought most of the Wizengamot were convinced that Pettigrew had survived, and that Sirius hadn’t betrayed the Potters at all. The Azkaban guard who’d seen the three men breaking out the prisoners was a key witness – he’d seen the man’s missing finger, and it matched the one Aurors attested to as being the sole identifiable fragment of Pettigrew found after the “explosion” that left behind suspiciously intact (though bloodied) robes. And Dumbledore had given a very moving speech that had many murmuring in regret for the lack of a trial years ago, and the necessity for the presumption of innocence.

But now they were starting to ask Sirius questions he didn’t seem keen on answering, and some he was suspected of lying about. Questions about where Remus Lupin was. What Sirius knew about the mass breakout from Azkaban. About whether he’d participated in any way, and what connection he had with it. Why he’d contacted Lupin at the school, and if he knew at the time that the man was a Death Eater loyalist.

Thicknesse was presiding over the trial, an imposing figure of a man in plum robes trimmed with gold. He had long black hair and a beard streaked with silver, and a great overhanging forehead that shadowed his eyes. He wasn’t the most handsome man and seemed stern rather than friendly, but Harry thought he’d been fair to Sirius up until now. Harry was losing hope he’d call a halt to the questions that were coming too thick and fast from the stern witch who was assigned to question Sirius, driving the man to a wide-eyed panicked state, his breathing coming shallowly and quickly. Sirius was tugging at the chains around his arms like he couldn’t help himself from trying to struggle free.

“Lunch break?” murmured Hermione worriedly to Harry, as they sat at a long table for witnesses on the courtroom floor. “What do you think?”

“I think you might be right,” he agreed, brow furrowed in concern as he watched Sirius laugh nervously where he sat on the stand, prevaricating about whether he thought Lupin followed You-Know-Who or not. “It would be easier for him if he’d go with Lupin’s statements about following the D… You-Know-Who, but he clearly doesn’t want to do that, and it’s weakening his case.”

“What does any of that have to do with a lunch break?” Ron asked, bewildered. But the other three ignored him, except that Hermione passed him a roast beef sandwich. Hermione took a nibble of her own sandwich, and uncorked her glass bottle of orange-gold pumpkin juice and drank it all down.

“Hey, do I get some pumpkin juice too?” Ron asked.

“No, this is just for me. I earned it,” she said with a sly smile. “And now that I won’t be recalled to the stand it’s a great time for it.”

“How do you feel?” asked Harry. “Any different?”

“I feel great!” she said, happily. “It was really tasty.” She ruffled Harry’s hair until it was all roughed up in a messy tangle, and then poked him in the ribs until he laughed and squirmed away.

“What was that for?” he asked with a giggle. “Cut it out!”

“I don’t know why I did that, but I think you should give Black a thumb’s up now!” she said happily.

Harry, still grinning cheerfully, waved at Sirius to catch his eye and then gave him a thumb’s up. Wordlessly, he mouthed, “You can do it!” in optimistic encouragement to his godfather.

Sirius stared at him and his messy head of hair, and blinked as he paused in his babble of unconvincing statements about Lupin. His hands and arms which had been straining fruitlessly at the chains wrapped around him, stilled and relaxed as he took a deep breath, and he started answering the questions more calmly.

“You’re right,” he said to the Auror who was questioning him, causing her to pause in her increasingly strident accusations. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to admit it, because it hurts to think that another friend betrayed us, but I think that Lupin _may_ have a connection to You-Know-Who. The Potters and I suspected a traitor, long ago. We thought it was Lupin, back then, not Pettigrew. Then when Pettigrew betrayed the Potters I regretted my suspicions. A decade of regrets and self-recriminations for suspecting the wrong man – Lupin instead of Pettigrew. But there could have been more than one spy. Though it isn’t something I seriously considered before the mass Azkaban breakout.”

There was a soft murmur of whispers at that admission, amongst the Wizengamot members in their large stand – a sea of plum coloured robes with a silver W embroidered on the breast. The questions from the interrogating witch shifted focus then, that admission gained. What collusion did he suspect between Pettigrew and Lupin? Who did he think masterminded the Azkaban breakout?

“I think there might be some collusion between the two of them – some debt or old bond or shared loyalty. I couldn’t say what the nature of that is, though. I don’t believe either of them masterminded the breakout – I suspect it was that one amongst the three attackers who _claimed_ to be You-Know-Who. The wizard the Azkaban guard told you about earlier. But I honestly don’t know for sure, because I was in no way involved in the planning or execution of that breakout – I was just as surprised as everyone else.”

Sirius seemed more confident in his answers now, more sure and honest. Harry didn’t think that meant he was being entirely upfront, however, as he knew Sirius was in regular contact with Lupin and didn’t _actually_ think he was behind the breakout. His questioning under Veritaserum had been earlier in the trial, with a pre-approved list of questions asked of him about his betrayal of the Potters and Pettigrew’s survival, before the antidote was administered.

Hermione pulled a book at random from her bag and let it fall open, and jabbed her finger randomly at a spot on a page, then read what it said. Her face lit up happily and she began busily transcribing something onto parchment.

“Looks like bibliomancy is working for her at last,” Neville murmured to Harry with a smile. “That’s lucky.”

Hermione passed her note and a quill carefully down to Harry, the ink still wet on the parchment. “Harry, read and sign and stamp that and give it to Mrs. Tonks, the witch over there who’s been defending Sirius from time to time.”

Harry skim read the note quickly. It was an anecdote about a trial in the 1700’s where a Moke poacher was on trial before the Wizengamot for endangering the Statute of Secrecy, and attempted murder. When the Head of the House who was the original accuser was incapacitated by a stroke, the Heir (who clearly was more sympathetic to the poacher’s impoverished and desperate circumstances despite the attack on their family’s gamekeeper and stealing their magical lizards) managed to get the sentence commuted to temporary service to his injured House, rather than imprisonment.

The statement at the end for Harry was to sign was under the name “Harold James Potter, Heir and acting Head of the Noble House of Potter (due to the unavailability of my Regent, the accused)”. It requested formally that any offences against the Potter family (and also his client family, Granger) that Sirius was found guilty of should be sentenced in the form of a period of servitude to the House of Potter, if it was judged the time already served was insufficient.

While Harry was reading it and dribbling some candlewax onto the bottom to stamp with his Heir ring, Hermione tried her bibliomancy again, and looked, if anything, even _more_ delighted with her second choice of a random passage. By the time Harry had finished reading and signing his note, she had a second one waiting and ready to deliver, advising Mrs. Tonks to argue that the current line of questioning was irrelevant to the charges against Sirius, and thus was legally required to be dropped (they were still lost in a digression about Lupin).

Mrs. Tonks was seated a little apart from the children at the far end of the long dark wooden table as Sirius’ patron for the trial, and was dressed very formally in a long flowing black robe, and had light brown hair and kind eyes. Harry walked over nervously past the row of adult witnesses as everyone watched him curiously, and delivered Hermione’s notes with a quick bow, which seemed to amuse her. Her eyes lit up as she read the letters, and she shooed Harry back to his seat, then stood up to interject herself once more into the trial proceedings.

The questions about Lupin were brought to a swift halt, and when the next line of arguments began about the assaults on the children in the Shrieking Shack, Mrs. Tonks was ready for them.

Hermione’s eyes roved around the room as the trial continued – it was going remarkably well now. “That man in the seats for the audience, in the pale green robe. Ron needs to go and sit with him. Right now.”

“Do I?” said Ron, startled. “Why?”

“Can you please just do as you’re told?” she said impatiently. “You have to hurry! It’s important!”

Grumbling all the way about bossy witches who thought they knew best, he went and plonked himself down next to the wizard.

“Should we have explained things to him better?” Neville whispered softly.

“No,” Hermione said firmly, sounding totally confident.

“I think I’ve met that wizard Ron is sitting with,” said Harry, twisting around in his seat to look. “That’s Healer-in-Charge Smethwyck. He works in the ‘Dangerous’ Dai Llewllyn Ward at St. Mungo’s. That’s the ward for magical creature injuries. Nice man. Storm liked him too.”

Neville was watching Ron anxiously. “He appears rather vexed. Ron, that is.”

And indeed he did look distinctly irritated, sitting there sulkily with his arms crossed, muttering to himself. As the trial continued, those on the floor discussed Sirius’ assertion that he’d seen a picture of “Scabbers” in the paper, and the acceptability of his assertion that it really _was_ a good reason for breaking out of Azkaban (which he didn’t even try to deny he’d done).

Head cocked and listening to something Ron was muttering grouchily to himself, Healer Smethwyck spontaneously rose to his feet and asked Chief Warlock Thicknesse’s permission to come down to the courtroom floor to act as a witness, which caused a minor stir amongst the interested audience and the watchful Wizengamot members. Sirius was very relieved to be excused from the stand for a while. After a proper introduction and swearing on his House honour to tell the truth, Smethwyck launched straight into an impassioned monologue.

“As an acknowledged world-wide expert in magical creatures and in botched Animagus transformations, I can assure you that the normal lifespan of even a magical rat would be far outstripped by that of a wizard living in their animal form. I have just been told by young Ron Weasley that ‘Scabbers’ lived for _over ten years_ with his family, as a ‘hand-me-down rat’ passed from an older brother, not just the three years with the youngest son we heard about earlier in the trial. That is _undeniable_ evidence that he was no ordinary magical rat, none of which live beyond six years. And a Muggle rat lives barely half that. Only a transformed Animagus could live for a full decade.

“You must also consider that when a wizard or witch spends too much time in their Animagus form, they may begin to succumb to the instincts of that form. Much as Mr. Pettigrew I suspect became trapped for many years by the domesticated rat’s instincts to stay where he was - safe, warm, and fed - Mr. Black was likely influenced by the dog’s instincts of loyalty and a desire to protect his family. Mind tormented into irrationality by the Dementors, and awash with the dog’s instinct to attack the threat to Mr. Potter, he didn’t have the _capacity_ to sanely and calmly communicate his concerns to the Azkaban guards, as you allege he should have done. And I doubt they would have believed such unsubstantiated ravings, had he tried.

“That Mr. Black took matters into his own hands is not evidence of irresponsibility, but quite the contrary! It attests to his deep sense of responsibility and loyalty to the House of Potter. I admit I too once thought him the most contemptible of knaves, but what I’ve read and what I’ve seen today has shown me the truth! To brave the Dementors of Azkaban for the sake of justice for a long-lost friend and the safety of a young boy he’d sworn to care for is the action of a hero, not a criminal. Had he cared only for himself he would have run and hid, but Sirius Black is clearly no coward.”

Harry teared up at that speech, and he wasn’t alone in applauding. It was true, Sirius had been really brave. He didn’t _have_ to try and catch Pettigrew, or to offer a house to Harry. He could’ve just run away to France or something, but he’d chosen to stay and try and make things better. Sirius looked quite overwhelmed too.

Hermione seemed satisfied with how the trial was going now and didn’t seem to want to intervene much more. At one point she felt the urge to prod Harry to nod with a regal and superior air to a young witch on the Wizengamot when she glanced over at their table, but that was it for the rest of the trial. He didn’t recognise her at all, but presumed it would help somehow, even though she didn’t seem to react in any way and returned her attention to the trial without a word or sign back to him.

“They’re breaking for deliberation now. The Wizengamot will likely debate for a few hours,” said Mrs. Weasley after the closing speeches were done. (Dumbledore made another supportive speech in favour of Sirius too, and though Sirius didn’t look terribly happy about it he kept quiet for it.) “Time for you children to head back to school in time for dinner.”

“But I want to know what happens with Sirius!” objected Harry.

“What if there’s something more we can do to help?” said Hermione.

“Maybe we could wait a _little_ while,” suggested Neville hesitantly.

“Yeah!” agreed Ron. “I want to know if he’s going to be freed or not.”

But she shook her head. “It’s out of our hands now – there’s nothing any of us can do to influence matters. The audience and witnesses leave, the accused returns to their cell until deliberations are finished, and the courtroom is sealed while the Wizengamot debates the charges and sentencing. Don’t worry Harry dear, they should have an answer this evening, you won’t have long to wait and I think things went _very well_ in there for poor Sirius.”

-000-

After escaping the photographer and reporter waiting outside the courtroom with a quick couple of snaps and quotes, the children were herded through the windowless corridors in the lower levels of the Ministry by Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley, and into a lift headed for the Atrium, where their scheduled Portkey awaited them.

“That went extremely well, I think!” Dumbledore twinkled happily, and Harry nodded in pleased agreement.

“I think it really did, sir.”

At the last minute as the lift doors were closing, Hermione suddenly caught Harry by the hand and dragged him out of the lift with her back into the corridor. “We’ll catch the next one!” she said hastily, as the doors shut on Mrs. Weasley’s surprised face.

“What was that about?” asked Harry, rather startled.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said with a confused shrug. “I just really, really want to wait for the next lift. With you.”

“Luck potion influencing you still? What were you thinking about?”

“I imagine it is. It’s supposed to last twelve hours, and it’s only been about five hours so far. I was vaguely thinking about how it would be nice to work here when I graduate, I guess? I wasn’t focusing very strongly.”

They stood in expectant silence together for a while. A brown-haired wizard in his thirties, wearing a casual blue robe walked up and stood next to them for a moment, before startling as he caught sight of Harry’s face and distinctive lightning bolt scar.

“My word! Harry Potter! Fancy me running into you at work! That’ll be something to tell the missus this evening. Dirk Cresswell, Goblin Liaison Office,” he said politely, holding out his hand to shake.

“A pleasure, sir. And may I introduce my good friend Miss Hermione Granger, a very talented and bright young witch in Gryffindor.” Harry tried to remember how to properly introduce a lady to a brand new acquaintance, and wasn’t sure he’d gotten it quite right, but it didn’t seem to matter.

Hermione looked very flattered by Harry’s introduction, and shook hands with Cresswell too.

“It’s an honour to to meet you, sir. And what an interesting job! I’d love to work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures when I graduate! Though I do think it could rather do with a change of name, don’t you think? Sometimes I worry that the Beings the Ministry liaises with might find that name demeaning, like they’re just creatures to control and not _people_ at all.”

Harry sighed in concern that she would offend with a statement like that, but it seemed that Hermione could do no wrong at the moment, for Cresswell agreed with her enthusiastically, and very quickly the two were lost in an in-depth discussion about goblin relations with the Ministry.

Harry wasn’t exactly sure what prompted him to interrupt and tease Hermione even though he knew it would upset her. He thought later that perhaps it had been her young, bright smile as she chatted with Cresswell about goblin history as they waited for the lift to arrive. So innocent and trusting. He’d felt a brief spurt of anger… no, of _jealousy_ at that innocence. She could afford to be trusting, like _he_ had never been able to. Lied to so many times, betrayed so often. She’d never had to develop his cynicism – she could afford to be gullible, and in that moment of envy where he wanted to expose her to the harsh side of reality he spat out a secret he’d promised her a long time ago he wouldn’t tell a soul.

“Hermione’s been pronounced a _great friend_ of the goblin nation,” he blurted out in a derisive, mocking tone.

“Harry!” gasped Hermione, looking very shocked and hurt. “You promised not to tell!”

“You’re a ‘goblin friend’? Oh dear,” said Cresswell, his face falling into sympathetic lines.

“It was supposed to stay a secret,” she said sadly, directing a look of betrayal at Harry, who scowled and crossed his arms.

“Better the truth comes out,” he said stubbornly.

“Never mind,” said Cresswell, patting her shoulder comfortingly, “you’re young and there’s still time to recover from a label like that. Just be sure to call them _cunning_ , as well as money-grubbing, worm-eating scum. Some people forget they like a compliment or two mixed in with the insults when they’re bantering with them.”

Hermione’s head snapped back to him in shock. “What?!”

Cresswell looked in confusion at Harry. “Oh, didn’t you explain it to her?” he asked in surprise.

“She wouldn’t listen to _me_ ,” sulked Harry, “what would I know – I’m just _prejudiced_. Maybe she’ll listen to an _expert_.”

“I see,” he said gravely, with an understanding nod. “Well you see, Miss Granger, the term ‘goblin friend’ is practically synonymous with ‘easy mark’. It signals to any goblins who interact with you that you’ll be easy to cheat – a very profitable ‘friend’ to their nation.”

“Really?” she said in a disbelieving, small voice. “It’s not a courtesy title indicating great friendship and respect?”

“Really. And I’m afraid not. But you can take heart in the fact that you found out _now_ , while you’re still so young! A child who sees through their trickery and joins in their tradition of flyting – an almost ritualised exchange of insults – is considered worthy of respect. Now, if you’d reached your majority and still held the title of ‘goblin friend’, then you _may_ have found it difficult to ever be truly held in genuine esteem by them. Which would have been a great deterrent if you’d planned on a career in my department. So it really was a fortunate thing that your friend Mr. Potter here spoke up when he did, and you found out now, rather than later.”

Hermione looked dazed. “I suppose it is rather lucky, when you look at it that way.”

“Don’t take it too hard, my dear. And don’t think too poorly of the goblins either – it’s just the nature of their culture! You can’t assume they think and act like wizards and witches do.”

“Or like Muggles either, I suppose,” she said thoughtfully. “I find wizarding culture strange enough to adapt to, sometimes. They’ve… we’ve got our own ways too.”

His face lit up. “Oh! You’re Muggle-born? We could use more Muggle-borns in the Ministry, I think. If you want to call on me as a patron to help you get started in your career, let me know when you’re getting close to graduating. I found it a bit of a struggle to get established and thank goodness for Professor Slughorn helping me out or I would never have gotten my first job – but look at me now, Deputy Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, with old Mockridge thinking of retirement! I’d be happy to help give you a few pointers later on if you’re interested in Ministry work… and I can put in a good word for you.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you!” she said happily. “You know, I’m in the Slug Club too.”

“Good old Sluggy! He only picks the brightest and best, you know. It’s another point in your favour. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment to get to, but it’s been a genuine pleasure,” he said, and waved the two of them farewell and hopped into the lift as it arrived at last.

“Do we get in too?” whispered Harry. “It’s rather crowded.”

“Oh! No,” she said, “next one, I think.”

“We’ll miss the Portkey if we don’t hurry,” he said, but she shrugged in an uncaring fashion, looking lost in thought.

They were alone in the next lift, apart from a flock of charmed origami birds that swooped into the lift to hover above their heads.

“I thought being lucky for a day would mean non-stop happiness,” she mused thoughtfully. “And I have been pretty happy. But also occasionally frantic, and worried, and… hurt.”

“I didn’t mean… that is, I’m sorry I upset you. I don’t know why I said that, it was just how you smiled… it all just came out. I’m sorry,” Harry said in a babbling apology.

“It’s alright. It was for the best, clearly. Both for my career and my vault balance. _I’m_ sorry I didn’t listen to you earlier. You did try to warn me.”

With a chiming ding, the lift doors opened at the Atrium, where Mrs. Weasley pounced on them as soon as the lift opened. “Finally! I was getting worried. Another moment and I would’ve sent people out looking for you! Bit nervous with so many people in the lift, I suppose?”

“It was just such a big crowd,” she said apologetically, with a guilty glance away from the motherly woman.

“Come on then,” Mrs. Weasley said gently, “let’s go to the nice quiet Floo over in the corner, shall we? We missed the Portkey, as Professor Dumbledore left with the boys already – it can’t be helped – but a quick trip to Hogsmeade and a brisk walk and we’ll have you back at Hogwarts in no time at all.”

-000-

Stepping out of the Floo into _The Three Broomsticks_ in Hogsmeade went smoothly and without incident. The room was warm and crowded, and a bit smoky, but cosy enough. A couple of patrons who’d been following news of the trial on the Wizarding Wireless stopped Mrs. Weasley to ask her questions, which she seemed happy enough to do, though insisting she could “only stay for a moment”.

A man at one of the tables caught sight of Harry and rushed over excitedly to shake his hand. “Mr. Harry Potter! What a pleasure to catch you in person! You haven’t responded to my last letter yet, Mr. Potter, about the proposed schedule of visits and book signings.”

Harry groaned very quietly. It was Lockhart’s publisher, and his letters had been growing increasingly pushy about an unreasonable schedule of bookshop visits and promotional activities. Hermione bumped into him as she was pushed by someone passing behind her juggling three foaming pewter tankards of ale, and it gave him an idea.

“Miss Hermione Granger, may I introduce to you Mr. Tiberius Sayre, the publisher in charge of Rumihart Books.”

He bent over her hand and gave it a polite peck.

“A pleasure, sir,” she said politely, as the Slytherin girls had drilled her.

“Hermione is my dear friend and client of the Potter family, and is a _big fan_ of Mr. Lockhart, whose books you publish. And did you know, Mr. Sayre, that Hermione is something of an author herself!”

“Oh, really? At your age?” he said, looking very interested. “You must be quite the prodigy.”

“Well, it’s just the start of a draft at the moment,” she said modestly. “I’ve been collaborating on it with Gregory Goyle, and a little bit with Tracey Davis – it’s a guide for Muggle-borns who are new to the wizarding world and want to integrate better and learn about the culture.”

His attention was now fully engaged, and Hermione looked increasingly excited as they chatted together about the draft chapters and outline she’d worked out so far, and the advantage she had from working with people of different backgrounds to her. Harry felt lucky too – he’d escaped a horrible session of being nagged to spend his entire holiday selling Lockhart’s pack of lies in book form.

They parted as Mrs. Weasley collected them with a promise on his part to send through a draft contract for her consideration, as he was keen to secure the rights to her book.

“I’m going to be a _published author_!” Hermione said enthusiastically to Harry, practically bouncing as she walked, she was so delighted.

“I’m sure you would have been eventually anyway,” he said, amused. “But congratulations! It sounds like he plans to offer you a _very_ good deal on the percentage of the profits.”

“And an advance if he likes the first chapter!” she squealed happily, hugging him excitedly.

Luckily he saw it coming, and didn’t flinch away like he sometimes did.

Her evening continued to be fabulous, by her standards. Notes arrived from teachers that she and the others would have an extension on their homework since they’d missed the days’ classes. Three more people joined the H.E.L.P. Society. People in the Common Room were sociable and friendly – people gave her copies of notes for classes she’d had to skip that day, and Lavender Brown sympathised with her about losing all Mrs. Weasley’s hard work on her hair when it exploded from a smooth ponytail into a bushy halo just when she took the witness stand and all the spells on her were removed.

“People laughed – it was a bit embarrassing,” Hermione admitted with a sigh. “And it looked so nice, before!”

“Oh, that sounds _terrible_ , you poor thing!” Brown cried. “I would be _mortified_. But I thought you didn’t _care_ about your looks?”

Hermione hesitated, and said slowly, “Well, it’s not that I don’t _care_ , it’s just that I think other things come first, like studying. I do like to look nice, sometimes. But I don’t know a lot of spells for that kind of thing, and I couldn’t be bothered spending an hour in the bathroom every morning fussing over my hair when I could be reading instead. It’s not like I can plug in a hair straightener into the bathroom socket at Hogwarts. But just because I don’t fuss over _my_ looks doesn’t mean I think less of someone _else_ for doing so, you know.”

Brown looked very pleased to hear that. She needed a little explanation about the hair straightener, and kindly promised to teach Hermione a few beauty spells when she had time. There seemed to be a level of friendliness between Hermione and a couple of her dorm mates that Harry had never seen before, as they chatted about grooming charms. Afterwards when they were talking about the classes she’d gone to that day, including Divination, Hermione politely conceded that Divination might have _some_ merit – like bibliomancy.

“You see! You just needed the right _branch_ of Divination!” Parvati said happily. “And obviously _books_ are what your spirit resonates with the most! I bet you’re sorry you quit now!”

“Not really, because I’m really not that talented at it. I’ll leave the subject to those who are,” she said with a polite nod, earning approving and flattered smiles from the girls.

“I guess making friends is a matter of luck, too,” Harry mused quietly to Neville. “What an interesting potion. I don’t understand how it can _possibly_ work, but the effects are undeniable.”

The cherry on the top of what had been an excellent day for Harry (even if he hadn’t gotten to be the lucky one dosed up on Felix Felicis) was the announcement on the Wizarding Wireless, which was later confirmed in an excitedly scrawled letter brought by a very pleased-looking owl, that Sirius Black was now a _free man_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I am *so* close to getting a thousand kudos on this fic. If you haven't left kudos already and you're enjoying this story, now would be a great time to do so! :) Only one more proper chapter of the story to go now, then an epilogue.


	32. Farewell Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exams and farewells.

**_June 1994_ **

The Dursleys were grudgingly pleased to get a letter from Harry announcing that Sirius Black was innocent and had been cleared of all charges, and thus posed no further threat to their family. With that announcement, they promised to Harry’s relief that he could return home for summer as usual. He suspected it was a weight off Professor Snape’s mind, too, though he didn’t say much about it, just a few words and a curt nod at Harry’s update was all the reaction he gave. Professor McGonagall was also pleased to hear the news, though she suspiciously warned him that she’d be double-checking with the Dursleys herself… just to be sure. Harry rolled his eyes, but figured it was fair given how he’d lied about his Christmas plans. And he _did_ have not one but _three_ backup plans in mind: Potter Cottage, the Black townhouse (Sirius was super keen for him to visit as soon as he could), and Longbottom Manor.

Flint, who continued to puzzle Harry with his outward veneer of friendliness, had Harry attend his Care of Magical Creatures presentation as a backup handler for Storm. They couldn’t find a time that overlapped with a rare free period for Harry, so he skipped out on a History of Magic lesson instead – no great loss there. Flint’s talk wasn’t the most in-depth in terms of research, nor the most eloquent one, but he spun a good yarn about the terrifying dangers of a full-grown Rainbow Serpent that could ambush and swallow a child whole or fry a wizard stone dead with lightning. Storm at only four foot long was now large enough to impress, but not so big as to frighten the class that he posed much of a threat.

Flint also talked about how he’d looked after Storm and showed off how could wave his tail on cue or “kiss” someone’s hand, burrow into the earth and summon lightning (Harry hissed some careful instructions for that part), and finished with a deliberate sop to Hagrid’s sensibilities about how really, deep down Wonambi were friendly and lovable creatures despite their dangerous reputation. Hagrid’s applause was the most enthusiastic of all, and Flint looked very smug.

“ _I was fearsome!_ ” Storm hissed happily. “ _Did they like my lightning? Are they making that noise for me? The clapping?_ ”

“ _Yess, they’re all very impressed with you and Flint. You did great!_ ”

“I wish I’d thought of that,” sighed a Ravenclaw student, whose hair was tied back very tightly in a bun with a blue ribbon. She had livid raw burn marks covering her arms up to the elbow, and something rattling about in an oak crate reinforced with metal bands that everyone was keeping a _very_ safe distance from. “Well, here goes, wish me luck.”

“What’s in there?” Harry asked curiously.

“Fire-breathing chicken,” said the girl. “My Uncle Robert works in the Ministry - he confiscated her – apparently this thing is a violation of the ‘Ban on Experimental Breeding’. Professor Hagrid should like my talk at least, he says it’s a sweet little hen, really, and she doesn’t mean any harm.”

She snorted quietly at her own quote, and looked sadly at her patchy reddened arms. “Thank Merlin I’m almost out of Hogwarts. I don’t think I could’ve taken another year of Professor Hagrid’s teaching.”

Harry dug into his satchel and retrieved a little jar of burn salve (made to his mother’s recipe) that was gratefully accepted as a gift, then he got while the going was good in wary avoidance of a possible fiery chicken rampage.

Exams rolled around soon enough, much to Hermione’s panic. It was beautiful weather, with cloudless skies and warm sunny days, and none of them enjoyed a jot of it.

Harry felt pretty confident about it all, if not quite as over-prepared as he was used to. He was used to trying to carefully calculate what marks to aim for, and what percentage of questions to get deliberately wrong. But now he was trying for the best he could manage in so many subjects, and it brought a certain relaxation to his planning.

History of Magic he was going to cheat his way through again, with help from Millicent’s informant and their copy of last year’s exam – he was planning on getting a very careful and unremarkable E like last year.

Astronomy he was keeping as an A, but he’d decided he wouldn’t stress over it too much if he got an E by mistake. Transfiguration he’d kept flip-flopping on, but in the end decided to stick with his original plan and go for an E. It was enough of an improvement on last year’s A, and he’d take it up to an O next year if he could. He didn’t want to be seen in improving in too many things too fast. And he admitted to himself that he wasn’t entirely sure he _could_ get an Outstanding grade in it right now anyway, as it was one of his least favourite subjects – an E might be hard enough. Potions and Charms he’d been revising especially hard for, aiming for Os, and hopefully top of both classes – though he knew he’d have some stiff competition for those spots.

Everything else he was just going to try his best at and see how things went. It felt… odd. Free. He wondered if this was how people _usually_ felt before exams, and wondered how Hermione could possibly get so stressed about it.

When exam week started the whole castle went quiet – even Gryffindors stopped playing cards in the common room, and huddled in little study groups instead – Percy took points off anyone making too much noise. Percy, who was sitting his NEWTs, seemed exceptionally stressed, and in Gryffindor he was rivalled only by Hermione in his anxiousness over the exams. He accepted Harry’s murmured wish of good luck and his gift of a couple of vials of Wideye Potion and Calming Draught very gratefully. Hermione took Harry’s offered Calming Draught, but not the Wideye Potion, which she seemed to disapprove of.

Monday began with Transfiguration, which Harry was happy to get out of the way. His tortoise still breathed steam in memory of its former existence as a teapot, but it walked and had a shell (with no willow-pattern, unlike Neville’s).

After Harry’s exam, Professor McGonagall said, “Well done, Potter. Great improvement this year!” So while Harry had sort of hoped to get an O and had genuinely tried his best on the practical (though not on the theory paper), he was at least pretty confident he’d get an E, which he would be happy with too.

Charms was after lunch, and Harry breezed through demonstrating his perfectly controlled Cheering Charm and several variations of the Wand-Lighting Charm, doing his absolute best for Professor Flitwick, who looked thrilled he was performing so well with minimal prompting.

Hagrid presided over the Care of Magical Creatures exam the next day, and they were given a tray of Flobberworms, and a half dozen fairies to watch for an hour. They had to keep the Flobberworms alive, while simultaneously making sure the fairies stayed happy and didn’t try to attack or eat the worms. For some students it was tough, if they had hungry fairies. Harry handily distracted his by charming a rock to glow, and encouraged them to gather on it to pose decoratively while he praised their looks with excessive flattery, which made them trill happily.

In stark contrast to Hermione who _always_ fretted after exams no matter how well she’d done, Neville looked thrilled at the end of the Potions exam, sounding very confident that his Confusing Concoction had worked out properly.

“You know how Snape used to stand right next to you in exams while you brewed? It always made me nervous – sometimes I dropped things or forgot where I was up to. Well with Professor Slughorn just sitting nearby where he could watch instead of Snape looming over me, it was so much easier!”

The midnight Astronomy exam was as dull and tiring as usual, and Harry aimed roughly for a high average grade in that.

Wednesday’s History of Magic dull as dishwater exam was, happily, an exact match for the notes on last year’s exam that Harry had obtained – his E was in the bag, just like Millicent’s O. And at a manageable price of only six Galleons for his share of “copying expenses”.

The afternoon’s Herbology exam was Neville’s chance to shine, and Harry didn’t even need to _try_ and do the very careful balancing act of being worse than Neville while still aiming for an O, because Neville was just _brilliant_ at Herbology and deftly pruned and repotted magical plants with the skill that only came from years of experience. Harry was great, but his friend was better.

Neville wasn’t looking forward to Snape’s Defence Against the Dark Arts exam, however. “I wish Professor Lupin was giving it,” he sighed unhappily.

“Professor Snape said if I don’t get an O on my exam, he’s giving me a weekend-long detention,” Harry confided to Neville quietly.

“…Is that a good thing, or a bad thing? In your view?” Neville asked, head tilted to one side.

“I dunno. Maybe… good? I mean, I want to do the best I can in that subject anyway. So I guess it’s kind of nice he thinks I can and should get an O. I won’t be happy about it if I get an E, though!”

“Well, may a fortunate star shine on you today, Harry.”

“Thanks, Nev.”

The theory paper quizzing them on curses and hexes and their matching counter-spells was straightforward enough and Harry found it very easy, but the outdoor obstacle course was challenging for some. They had to wade across a paddling-pool full of Grindylow, cross a series of potholes full of Red Caps, and then enter a tent unexpectedly containing a Boggart.

Harry’s Boggart was still Dumbledore – he’d wondered if it might change as they’d been getting along a lot better lately. But the fear of having Dumbledore exposing his secrets and sending him to Azkaban was still there, if relatively easily battled now with the Riddikulus Charm that he’d had plenty of practice with.

After the test the Gryffindor trio went down to the lake’s edge to sit in the sunlight and talk over their exam. Hermione moaned unhappily at getting in trouble during the exam for half-burning down the tent and badly injuring the Boggart. “I thought it was a troll! It _looked_ like a troll!”

“But surely you knew he wouldn’t include a _troll_ in the exam?” asked Harry. “We didn’t even study trolls! He said they’d be creatures we’d be able to easily overcome if we’d studied. Well, he didn’t say it as nicely as that, but that was the gist.”

She shook her head, and sighed unhappily. “They were in Professor Lupin’s textbook, so it seemed plausible. And I panicked!”

“Never mind. At least you showed you can fight a troll, right?” Harry said comfortingly. “It’s better than freezing up.”

“I suppose. And you know what? I got to see Professor Snape’s Boggart – and you know what it turned into? A werewolf! He wrapped it up in silver chains and laughed at its whimpering when he cast Riddikulus. He has a _scary_ laugh.”

Harry nodded slowly. “A werewolf makes sense.” It was pretty brave of him to have worked with Professor Lupin, when you thought about it. Not to mention coming after them in the gloomy woods, when everyone suspected Lupin might’ve been involved in Ron’s kidnapping – a rogue werewolf allied with a Death Eater with good reason to hate a traitorous spy.

“Well take heart in the fact that you weren’t the only one who mistook the Boggart for another more dangerous creature,” Neville said comfortingly to Hermione, with an awkward pat on her shoulder. “Ron told me he got a giant Acromantula, and he ran straight out of the tent. And I failed that part of the test too.”

“It must have been tough to make Snape look ridiculous, when you knew he was watching,” she said sympathetically.

“No,” he said dejectedly, picking up a rock and throwing it into the lake with a noisy splash. “It had changed. It was my father. Saying how he was disappointed in me. How could I make that funny? I froze up… I just stood there while he lectured me until Snape came in to check on me. I failed that part of the exam, of course. And Professor Snape called me an idiot.”

“Maybe he meant it in a nice way?” Harry said optimistically. “Like of course your father wouldn’t be disappointed in you.”

Neville threw another rock, and it skipped once before sinking. “It didn’t _sound_ like he meant it in a nice way, Harry. He looked at me like… like I was crusty old Bubotuber pus. He likes Malfoy, and he likes _you_. But I’m just… worthless. In every subject.”

“Not in Herbology,” Harry said encouragingly.

“Or Charms!” Hermione said brightly, giving him a one-armed hug from the side. “You’re great at both of those subjects, I know that for a fact. And you’re great at Defence… when Snape isn’t watching you. I’ve seen you in Potter Watch.”

A dismissive, hunched shrug wordlessly communicated Neville’s scepticism about those reassurances. “Gran says Charms are easy. A soft option. And I might be alright at some spells, but I couldn’t get a Patronus to come to my call. And what does it matter about Defence if I can’t do the spells right when a teacher is watching? And I drop my wand whenever it’s important. And I’m failing Divination. I’m not looking forward to this afternoon’s exam.”

While Hermione nattered encouragingly about how difficult the Patronus Charm was and how half the club members hadn’t managed it either, Harry pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them tightly while he stared out at the ripples on the lake. Neville sat in sulky contemplation next to him, throwing some more stones. “It doesn’t matter,” Harry said eventually. “What your Gran says. Or what Snape thinks. What matters is you. You know you’re good at that stuff.”

“But I _don’t_ ,” sighed Neville.

Hermione kept trying to talk him up, but it didn’t seem to help much, and he just seemed to get more depressed, comparing his more average academic results to hers. Harry eventually resorted to not-so-subtly encouraging her to leave, so he could talk with Neville one on one.

“Alright Nev, let’s say everything your Gran and your idiot of a great-uncle say about you being rubbish at lots of stuff is true.”

Neville shrugged. “It is.”

“I don’t believe that, but for the sake of argument, let’s say you’re right. What does it matter?”

“What?”

“I’m saying it doesn’t matter,” Harry repeated patiently. “It doesn’t matter one jot if you get a T in Divination. You can drop it for your NEWTs, and you don’t need it, or any of the other subjects you’re worried about for a career in Herbology.”

“I suppose,” Neville said, looking thoughtful.

“Do you think someone will refuse to buy a Flitterbloom cutting from you because you got an A or a D in History of Magic? Do you think customers will say, ‘I won’t buy Sopophorus or Puffapod beans from _him_ – he doesn’t remember the date of the last goblin war, and can’t transfigure a teapot properly!’ No! They’ll only care if the plants are any good or not.”

Neville laughed. “Yes, I guess you might be right there. Thank you, Harry.”

Harry perked up happily as Neville looked cheerful again. “Feeling better now?”

“Much. I still need to get enough NEWTs to graduate and be competitive for an Apprenticeship, but it doesn’t _really_ matter if some of them are As, does it? Especially at OWL level.”

“Not a bit.”

At lunch, Neville joined Ron and a bunch of other Gryffindors doing last minute cramming for Divination, while Harry and Hermione studied Ancient Runes. After the last test they all meet up again in the Gryffindor common room, where the Weasley twins were setting things up for a joyful party in celebration of the last day of exams (not counting the NEWT students).

“I can’t believe Babbling only gave us _ten minutes_ to inscribe a clay tablet to repel vermin!” moaned Hermione.

“I know! And that theory paper was _so long_!” complained Harry. “My hand still hurts from so much writing. And I think I got a couple of Elder Futhark and Younger Futhark rune meanings and poems mixed up. I panicked when we started running out of time! And then I had a problem with my quill and had to resharpen it, which I’m not great at. My spare quill was broken, can you believe it?!”

“Oh no! Did you finish in time?” Hermione cried sympathetically.

“Only _just_ ,” he said worriedly, “I think I wasted too much time on the interpretations of chained runes.”

Neville and Ron came and plonked down on the squashy maroon sofa chairs next to them. They smelled faintly of incense even from where Harry was sitting.

“How’d Divination go?” asked Harry.

“Not so good,” Neville said. “But I can’t tell you anything – Professor Trelawney said I’d suffer a horrible accident if I talked about the exam to anyone else!”

Hermione snorted. “That’s just to stop cheating.”

“Well mine was rubbish,” said Ron. “It was crystal ball scrying, and I’ve never seen a thing with that. I went with the first gory thing that popped into my head and made some stuff up about people drowning in the lake next year, but I’m not sure if she was convinced. And guess what? She went into a fit in the middle of Seamus’ exam!”

“Really?” asked Harry, curiously. “What did she say? Was it a vision?”

Ron shrugged. “He said it was something kind of ominous about fathers fighting over the son, and death, and blood. You know, the usual tosh.”

Hermione nodded approvingly at his dismissively sceptical attitude. “She never could resist a vague prediction of doom and gloom.”

“She predicted my death four times this year! And yet here I am,” Ron said. “I reckon you were right about her, Hermione.”

“It could be a real vision. She _is_ a Seer,” insisted Neville.

“ _I_ think it was rather rude of her to try and show off in the middle of someone’s exam,” Hermione said with a disparaging sniff.

Ron nodded. “Seamus certainly thought so. I think she was a bit embarrassed by it herself. She pretended she hadn’t even done it, afterwards.”

-000-

The Saturday after exams was the start of the last Hogsmeade weekend. With only a week left of school to go and exams safely behind them (unless they were sitting their NEWTs), most students delighted in the chance to celebrate the end of school with an outing, and Harry wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity either. Draco tried to convince him to go and buy more dragon figurines for him (proffering a leather pouch stuffed full of Muggle money), but Harry told him he had to come along in person.

“It’ll be good for you,” he said stubbornly. “You can see a bit more of Muggle culture. And you can pick out the figurines you like best.”

“If I wanted to learn about Muggles I would have taken Muggle Studies,” whined Draco. “Can’t you just buy them for me? I will consider myself in your debt for a minor favour.”

Harry said slowly and hesitantly, “Well, that’s nice of you to offer… but I really think you should go too…”

Draco grinned, sensing triumph ahead, and moved to close the deal. “ _And_ you can keep the change. ‘Twill be a simple task - just buy all the ones I do not own yet.”

Harry peeked in the pouch. There was a _lot_ of money in there – he’d likely have over a hundred pounds in change. “Are you really sure? That’s a lot of money. Well, okay then,” Harry said, capitulating in the face of outright bribery. “Just this once.”

“Of course. Thank you so much, Harry,” Draco said, gracious in his victory.

Harry offered both Neville and Hermione an outing with him again, but like last time only Neville took him up on it.

“Are you nervous about being caught, Hermione?” Harry asked curiously.

She shrugged. “A little… but it’s also just… what’s the point of it? I’ll be home in a week. I can go out to bookshops and cafes as much as I like then. Completely risk free.”

So Neville and Harry enjoyed an outing together in the sultry June weather, and over pizza Harry ended up giving his curious friend a confident run down on Muggle currency, and a rather more vague lesson on what exactly “golf” was, and explained how it was still challenging even if the ball _didn’t_ move on its own. Sirius had _finally_ sent back Harry’s invisibility cloak, so they had little fear of getting caught as they zipped back to Hogsmeade together on Harry’s broom, with Neville holding the cloak around them both.

On Sunday Harry snuck down to see Ambrosius for one last visit before the holidays. They had a congenial chat about Sirius being found innocent. Of most charges, anyway.

“So he is freed with no consequences then, having served time already for crimes he did not commit?” Ambrosius asked.

“Well, he has to do one year of service to House Potter for neglect of a sworn duty, and unsanctioned duelling of minors. Apart from that he’s free to go. Apparently there was some discussion of compensation, but he said he didn’t care about that and just wanted to be free, and the Ministry was very happy to not have to pay up. Oh, and they took away Pettigrew’s Order of Merlin, Second Class medal, because… uh…” Harry trailed off awkwardly as he noticed the sudden wide grin on Ambrosius’ face.

Ambrosius laughed out loud as Harry blushed.

“I have an ‘Order’ with medals, do I? Well that’s very kind of me!”

“It’s for acts of outstanding bravery or distinction in magic,” Harry mumbled. “They started doing it in the fifteenth century, I think.”

It seemed that Ambrosius was having trouble calming down, and was beating his hand on the wooden arm of the klinai, laughing until he started wheezing and gasping for breath. Eventually he managed to settle down, and wiped away a couple of tears off his grinning face. “Oh, that was delightful,” he said with a chuckle. “Well, I did have a number of wizards and witches working with me once, but that Order was focused on helping mankind – forgive me, I mean Muggles of course – to improve and better society as a whole. Discreetly and without awakening anger or superstition amongst the populace.

“Did you know that I was nearly murdered by Muggles when I was a young man? Vortigern wanted to use me as a sacrifice so the foundations of his keep would stay solid and imbued with magic – they had a lot of mysterious trouble during construction with masonry collapsing. There are different levels of power for sacrifices, and the sacrifice of a wizard or witch’s life is of course a particularly potent one.”

Harry flipped open his diary (which was almost full now), charmed the text visible so he could find his place, and started making notes. “Is this the story with the white and red dragons? Where he spared you when you uncovered them in a pool and explained that’s why his castle kept collapsing? And the red dragon stood for Wales?”

“Yes, that’s correct in essentials. The site, you see, was one of our people’s old hidden underground homes – the entrance to what the Muggles called ‘fairy mounds’. Magic wrought upon the hill charmed its appearance to conceal the entrance from the sight of Muggles, and made them disinclined to venture near it. Ill luck befell those who persisted. But the magic was old and fading, and our kind no longer dwelled inside this one – most in that region favoured the more modern huts and houses like Muggles dwelled in. I myself favoured a Roman villa! Though in passing you should note that the traditional ways persisted longer in Ireland.

“So, returning to the tale! The old mound on top of which Vortigern wanted to construct his new fort had been given over to dragons to nest in. There was a pool of water inside – for bathing in, once upon a time.”

He looked sort of wistful and sad as he continued, “I still feel ashamed that I exposed the site, and in doing so condemned one of the dragons nesting inside to its death. The red dragon escaped – I pronounced that one a good omen for Vortigern, so no warriors dared attack it.”

“You didn’t want to die. You did what you had to,” Harry offered comfortingly.

“Thank you, lad,” Ambrosius said with a smile. “They called the keep Dinas Emrys later, after me, for I was gifted it many years later, after Vortigern’s death. There used to be a lovely grove of oak trees to the north of great puissance, but I imagine they have long since been cut down, for I have heard my old keep is nothing but ruins, now.”

“Thank you for sharing your story,” Harry said politely. “Was there anything _you_ wanted to talk about today?”

“Not in particular. Though I am curious as to where your colourful serpentine familiar has gotten to? I see he’s not with you today.”

“Storm? He’s having a swim, and very optimistically hoping to catch a fish. He’s hungry again now he’s shed his skin, and I finally got around to magically clearing up that manky old pool of water in the main chamber.”

They chatted a little more about nothing in particular – Harry’s grades, and his plans for the holidays, and how his studies were going. Harry asked for advice about how to check on a runic circle with something magically adhered to the top of it, given he was worried about disturbing any beneficial spells. He eventually ended up telling the whole story about the hidden circle and his theory about his mother’s ritual to protect him – a lot more than he’d originally planned. For Ambrosius teased it out of him bit by bit, and finally pointed out he had _no-one to tell_ , and would vow not to tell Tom Riddle – Voldemort – if he ever showed up again.

“You said the rug is already mouldy – so water hasn’t disturbed its magics. And you picked at it already without harm, so it isn’t guarded against physical attacks,” Ambrosius stated logically. “Even were it so, perhaps as it is in your own house it was charmed not to harm _you_ specifically. For surely your mother would not have wished you to be harmed as a baby if you gnawed on or picked at the rug.”

“So, water to weaken it, and maybe a knife to cut bits away?”

“Yes, I think so. And when you start your research, remember to check for a weakness in yourself. Baldr, after all, was immune to all things on earth but one – mistletoe. Perhaps it is a vulnerability of yours too. Or perhaps there is another weakness. Rituals demand balance, and sacrifice. No-one can be guarded against _everything_.”

“I thought the magic would have faded by now – that it was most likely all used up in my protection as a baby.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you remain still guarded against the Killing Curse, or against harmful spells from your family’s enemy, the former Heir. Do you ever feel anything from the rune on your forehead?”

Harry thought about it. “Sometimes it twinges. I used to have problems with it… in… Professor Quirrell’s class. Headaches. Oh. So I guess maybe it’s still doing something.”

-000-

Exam results came out on the last Friday morning of school at breakfast time, and were much talked over. Harry got five Os: in Charms, Potions, Herbology, DADA, and Care of Magical Creatures. He came top of the class for both DADA and Charms, to the evident delight of both his teachers, who both seemed somewhat smugly inclined to give part of the credit to their exemplary teaching rather than Harry’s own studying. He got Es for Transfiguration and History of Magic, and an A for Astronomy, as planned. Ancient Runes gave a two part grade, and he got an O for the practical, but an E for the theory, which was disappointing but not entirely unexpected, while Hermione got Os in both parts, though she missed out on the top class position which went to Anthony. She had to content herself with the fact that while she’d missed that, _and_ lost first place in the DADA class to Harry, she’d stolen the top spot in Potions from Draco, who was _very put out_ about it.

Neville continued to be thrilled about holding onto the top spot in Herbology, as if there had been some doubt about it, and seemed if possible even _more_ delighted by his O in Charms and his E in Potions.

“And it doesn’t matter about Transfiguration or failing Divination, does it Harry?” he babbled happily. “I got an O in Charms, can you believe it?”

“I really, really can,” Harry said. “You’ve been improving in Charms in leaps and bounds ever since you got your new wand!”

“Professor Slughorn said I have a great future in Potioneering if I continue to apply myself!” he said excitedly. “There’s a lot of overlap between Potions and Herbology, you know!”

Harry’s other friends were pretty content with their results, except for Draco who continued to grumble and complain about Hermione beating him in Potions to Harry, as if Harry should _do_ something about it. Luna popped by their table in the library and was invited to share her results too, which were fairly average except for Charms which she’d done very well in, History of Magic which she’d failed, and Potions where she’d gotten a D, which she put down to Wrackspurts infesting Professor Snape’s classroom for most of the year.

The OWL and NEWT students of course wouldn’t get their results until well into the holidays, but the relief they felt from having gotten them over with was almost palpable to everyone around them.

After mulling it over a lot and talking it over with Pansy, Harry had decided to write a patron-style character reference for Percy, to help him in job applications since he was graduating. But he was hesitant about it because he didn’t want to offend, or seem officious about it. He _was_ quite a bit younger than him, and Percy acted as much like a patron to Harry as vice versa. He wanted to show that they were friends though, and do what he could to help him out as an ally of sorts, in this wizarding world where who you knew counted as much for advancement as what you knew. Letters of recommendation were common, and expected. Just not usually written by children.

So in a burst of inspiration he’d decided to meld the wizarding custom of references with a Muggle tradition, and had bought a blank thank you card in Grantown-on-Spey, and written Percy a note on the inside.

Percy accepted the envelope curiously, and read the card aloud.

“ _To Percival Weasley, son of the Sacred House of Weasley,_

_Good luck with your career Percy! I will miss you at Hogwarts, for you were a most diligent and responsible prefect and Head Boy, and your genuine care for all students shone through. I am sure you will go far in the Ministry and be valued as the intelligent and hard-working wizard you are. I wish you all possible success, and am proud to call you my friend._

_With my sincere wishes for your future health and happiness,  
Harold (Harry) James Potter, Heir of the Noble House of Potter_.”

Percy stood silently for a moment after reading it, which made Harry nervous.

“Is it too much? I hope it’s not seeming rude to you that I wrote a sort of reference when you’re older than me,” he babbled. “I thought maybe it might help, and wouldn’t do any harm, but you don’t have to show it to anyone if you don’t want to – it can just be a card to keep, you see. Thank you cards are a Muggle thing. You give them to people when they leave somewhere, and you’re going to miss them-”

“Thank you, Harry,” Percy said, with a smile dawning slowly on his face, transforming it from its usual staid expression. “That’s… it’s really thoughtful of you. I’m touched - it’s a wonderful gift, and I do appreciate you saying such commendable things about me. I was just surprised at first – I really do like it! I don’t know that I’ll need it – I have a job lined up already, but the gesture is a kind one.”

Harry let out a deep breath in relief. “Oh, good! Well of course you do. And I’m sure you’ll do well in it.” He’d started to panic for a moment there that he’d misjudged things. They exchanged polite bows, and then Percy shook his hand too for good measure, still smiling.

Someone else from Harry’s circle of acquaintances was leaving Hogwarts too – most unexpectedly. At the end of year feast, where the Ravenclaws jubilantly celebrated a rare win for the House Cup (despite their Quidditch Cup loss to Slytherin), Dumbledore had a couple of announcements to make over dessert. Harry prodded Storm awake just as he was calling for attention, as hidden under Harry’s voluminous robe sleeve Storm was sleepily squeezing Harry’s arm too strongly, and was starting to cut off the circulation from being too tightly wound.

“ _What’ss going on? Did the House of Sssnakess win the ssspecial cup yet?_ ” Storm asked.

“ _No, Ravenclaw did. I just want you not to sssqueeze so hard. I can’t feel my fingerss properly. You’re getting ssso big!_ ”

“Shh!” hushed Hermione. “Stop hissing - Dumbledore’s about to start speaking!”

“ _Ssslytherin’ss House should have won again_ ,” grumbled Storm, who held no loyalty for Gryffindor. At least he loosened his grip on Harry’s arm, and Harry wiggled his fingers back into functioning again with relief.

“I am pleased to say that Professor Slughorn has agreed to remain at Hogwarts on an ongoing basis as our Potions professor,” he said, to enthusiastic applause. “However, we must regretfully farewell one of our other teachers, for Professor Snape will be leaving Hogwarts, and I must search again for a new Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor.”

There were a lot of disappointed faces at the Slytherin table, and a lot of gossip across the other tables, with a few quickly shushed bursts of applause, which drew Snape’s glaring ire.

“Thank you! I know we’re all happy for Professor Snape’s success in finding a new opportunity elsewhere. Now, please join me in a round of applause to thank Professor Snape for his years of service to our school,” Dumbledore said, and while some of the claps were perhaps more in celebration of his departure than thanks for his teaching, they all sounded the same.

“Did you know about this, Harry?” Neville asked wonderingly.

“No, I’m as surprised as you are!” Harry said. “Though I suspect some of the Slytherins knew. But maybe they’re just better at hiding their shock?”

Harry wasn’t the only student wanting to talk to Professor Snape after the feast – there was a small line outside his office door. He _was_ the only one not from Slytherin there, however. Montague waved him into a spot behind him in the middle of the line while they waited, which the other students seemed to take with good grace, and they chatted inconsequentially about Quidditch until it was his turn to go in. Montague was pretty excited about the shake-up to the team he anticipated from Flint finally graduating, and was really looking forward to the next season.

After Montague it was Harry’s turn, and Snape didn’t waste any time with pleasantries.

“Make it fast, Potter, for I have packing to do and a line of students waiting to see me.”

“Umm, I wanted to know why you’re leaving?” Harry said, thrown off his prepared more subtle speech by Snape’s bluntness. “And what’s going to happen with ah... celebrations…”

“Yes, yes, I have been queried excessively about both matters. In short, I no longer feel honour-bound to remain here at Hogwarts any longer. I have found a more promising position elsewhere that is focused on innovative potions research – it should be a fascinating project. I assure you that I leave you in capable hands for your Potions instruction – Professor Slughorn holds a Mastery in Potions, and was my own teacher once. He will no doubt be thrilled to see you flourish at an Outstanding level in Potions under his masterful tutelage. He will be remaining at Hogwarts indefinitely, and will also be taking over my position as Head of Slytherin House.

“Professor Sinistra will be taking over my position as chief druid in leading the quarter festivals, and she will no doubt do well in her position, aided perhaps on occasion by Professor Slughorn. Was there anything else?” he finished impatiently.

“I uh… could you pretend I subtly asked you about the wards around Privet Drive, and tell me what you’re actually willing to say? Given you’re leaving and I won’t have another chance to ask?”

Snape leaned back in his chair with a creak of wood, and steepled his fingers. “Hmm, true. The risk to myself is minimal, for I shall soon be gone. But it _does_ still remain a risk. If I speak to you about this, you must promise to study Occlumency diligently over the summer break. I shall send you a book on the matter, and some notes.”

“Oh yes, sir!” Harry said, with an eager nod. “I promise!”

Snape nodded. “You shan’t like what I have to say. Brace yourself,” he warned. “I want no unseemly displays of emotion.”

Harry took a deep breath, and visualised the sky, dotted with slowly drifting clouds. “I’m ready as I can be, sir.”

“An illegal blood ward,” Snape said abruptly. “Cast by your headmaster over a decade ago, when you were first left there.”

“Dumbled-”

Snape shook his head sharply in warning, and Harry cut himself off, and tried again.

“The headmaster sacrificed a boar or something, to put wards around Privet Drive?” he asked, still shocked.

“Not a boar. It was Lily’s blood,” Snape said stiffly.

Harry blinked. “But he didn’t kill her. That was the Dark Lord.”

“Yes. But he took her blood to do it. He painted over the runes of the wardstones with it.”

“I’ve never seen any wardstones-”

“-Deeply buried,” Snape said, interrupting his question.

Harry mulled it over for a moment, keeping his breathing slow and calm, while Snape waited with unexpected patience. “I don’t like it,” he concluded. “Not at all.”

“Nor do I,” agreed Snape. “Yet it is a great protection for you. Do not surrender it lightly by being too quick to leave that place. Yet… I would not cast any blame upon you should you do so, even to live with _Black_. I know what it is like to live where you are not truly wanted. Two weeks residence at Privet Drive a year should suffice to affirm it as your home and recharge the wards with your magic, should you choose to do so.”

“What exactly do the wards do?”

Snape sighed. “I’m not entirely certain of the _full_ details – the headmaster has never been completely forthcoming on the matter. I know part of its enchantment is to keep Death Eaters or the Dark Lord from reaching you there, and some protections against ‘Dark’ harmful magic.”

“How could he _do_ that? The headmaster? Doesn’t he hate all Dark magic?”

“Sometimes what we condemn most loudly are the temptations that call to us the most. He is no exception to that rule,” Snape said. “If you wish to think well of him, comfort yourself with the knowledge that it was not intended for anything except your protection. He constructed that blood ward at great personal risk, solely for your benefit.”

They sat in silence together for a brief moment, before Snape broke it with a question. “Was that all? I know it’s a difficult topic you might wish to think over, but I have other students to see.”

“Yes… no. I just… I’d like to say I’m sorry you’re leaving, sir,” Harry said awkwardly. Snape’s eyes softened, and a small smile stole across his face briefly and then was gone.

“Thank you, Potter. Keep working hard… no, _harder_ at your subjects, like your mother would have wanted. And I shall write to you, to check on your Occlumency studies, if you are agreeable?”

“I will, sir. And good luck. In your new job. I wish you’d stay a little longer, though. You’ve been a great Defence teacher.”

Snape nodded acknowledgement. “Thank you. With my past as a known Death Eater I was lucky to be able to work at Hogwarts, and that was only because Dumbledore has nigh-absolute control of all hiring decisions. Even then he had to use his not inconsiderable political power and call in a number of favours to keep me here, rather than in Azkaban. Opportunities for new employment as few and far between for me. This is an excellent offer of a position that I cannot afford to turn down.

“Now, off you go. Send the next student in, please… Harry.”

Harry left with a smile.

-000-

The train ride back to King’s Cross Station was full of chatter and socialising, and Harry and Hermione both quickly abandoned their attempts to spend any of the time reading. Lots of people stopped by to gossip about Black, or just generally say hello and share their best wishes for a nice holiday. Peregrine, Alice, Bones, Montague, Flint, Anthony, Macmillan, Creevey, Nott, and many more people. So many people who were friends, or allies, or wanted to be. Harry realised with some bewilderment that he was in fact rather popular now. A far cry from the guarded wariness a lot of students held for him last year, even _after_ Lockhart’s fanciful and flattering tales of what happened down in the Chamber of Secrets.

Luna stopped by and was welcomed to sit with the three Gryffindors for the whole ride back to London, which seemed to be all the joy she could possibly hope for, judging by her broad smile.

Draco stopped by with Greg and Crabbe in tow to let Harry know he was welcome to visit at Malfoy manor if he wished, and Neville competitively said he was welcome at _his_ manor too. Harry promised he’d visit both of them if he got a chance. Draco and Crabbe left their compartment on the train without Greg, who’d been invited to stay and sit by Hermione, who was talking his ear off about their planned book “ _Introduction to Wizarding Culture_ ”, and trying to figure out some etiquette-approved way to stay in contact over the holidays and work around his father’s reluctance for him to associate with her. She got out a quill to jot down some notes on ideas as they talked.

Ron visited briefly with his still-shy sister in tow to chat about the upcoming Quidditch World Final, which he and his family were going to, and was interested to hear that Harry might be going to it with Sirius Black.

Pansy, Daphne, Tracey and Millicent came by their compartment to coo their farewells, and all except Millicent made Harry promise to write to them over the holidays. They all shuffled along the seats to make room for the girls to sit down – but it was rather squashy now and in the end only Pansy and Daphne sat down, shooing the other two girls back to their own shared compartment with a promise that they wouldn’t be long.

 “It’s been so busy,” said Hermione, glancing up from her secretive note-taking she’d hidden inside a book while Ron had been visiting, and casting a quick spell to clean the wet ink marks off the pages. “Why do you think so many people are stopping by this year?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” said Pansy.

“I’ve been making a lot of friends this year,” said Harry thoughtfully. “Working on establishing allies and the like, to help Sirius. I guess they want to say formal farewells? I haven’t socialised as much as I probably should have – there’s just so many people to keep in touch with and exam time was pretty busy.”

Hermione nodded, and turned to Pansy. “So they’re re-affirming those connections of friendship? Is it a ritual wizarding farewell for the end of the year? Or are they trying to hint that he owes them a favour?”

“Sort of the first thing,” Neville said hesitantly.

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Muggle-raised the two of you,” she said with a sniff. “Sometimes it shows.”

“Well, _explain_ it then,” Hermione said snidely. “There’s no point complaining about our cultural ignorance and then refusing to help.”

“They’re potential _clients_ ,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes.

“That doesn’t actually _explain_ anything, you know,” said Hermione, sounding a bit irritated.

“Harry is _someone_ now, like Draco,” Greg said patiently. “He is establishing himself as a patron – or someone who will be when he is of age. Someone who likes politics and is good at helping his clients, like Black, and Lovegood, and Creevey, and even you. You pay court to people who are more important than you – more influential. He’s not going to them, they are coming to him. It is the old custom of salutatio where clients visit their patrons. But it’s not the morning and it’s not at his house but it still sort of counts because for the journey this compartment is like his home – it is a private room with a door, and anyone can visit it.”

“And I got to stay!” Luna said chirpily.

“There’s layers of meaning to this I’m missing?!” said Harry, feeling suddenly panicked. “Am I doing it wrong? I never visit _anyone_ on the train! I didn’t know I was supposed to!”

“I don’t know, _are_ you doing it wrong?” said Pansy. “Did you mean to snub Nott when you said you might be too busy to meet up over the holidays?”

“No! He just mentioned getting together in the week I have exams on – Muggle ones – I really _will_ be busy then! And I hardly know him!” How many people had he accidentally offended?

“Oh,” she said, sounding surprised. “Well, he was trying to make an overture there, and you snubbed him pretty badly. You should write him a letter, perhaps.”

“Who else did I offend? What else did I miss?”

Pansy looked bewildered. “I’m not sure? I think you are doing very well, honestly.”

Neville chimed in, “Um. Did you know you formally offered Luna shelter earlier?”

“Oh! Did he?” said Daphne, sounding delighted. “That’s an old custom.”

“It was very nice of you,” Luna said with a smile, which drooped a little. “You _did_ mean it, didn’t you?”

Harry stammered, “No… yes, I mean you’re welcome here, you’re a friend.”

“She ah… she asked formally if she could shelter in here with you and your friends where there weren’t any Wrackspurts, and you said she could, and then you glared at that girl who walked by and giggled while looking at her?” Neville said.

“Well I didn’t want anyone bothering her,” Harry said, uncomfortable.

“You’re a good patron,” Luna said soothingly. “And it was nice of you to get MacDougal to watch out for me this year.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry said. “Though I thought she’d been more discreet than that.”

“People talk. Sometimes they think I’m not listening,” Luna said vaguely.

“It sounds exactly like helping a client, to me,” said Daphne, with an assumed air of sage authority. “You can have other people act on your behalf, but the credit accrues to you.”

Harry sighed. What had he gotten himself into? And now he thought about it, MacDougal had even tried to tell him about him being seen as Luna’s patron, and he hadn’t even paid proper attention, or thought about the possible consequences of that.

“Didn’t clients used to get money on a daily basis from their patrons in Ancient Rome?” Hermione asked thoughtfully.

Harry groaned as Greg started patiently explaining to the rapidly-scribbling Hermione all the obligations that Harry would have to take on once he came of age. He also explained how she should’ve visited Pansy and himself in their respective train compartments too, since they looked out for her as potential patrons too, and you could have more than one patron. She looked very gravely thoughtful at that, and promised to consider it before their return journey to Hogwarts next year.

-000-

On the non-magical side of King’s Cross Station, an odd assortment of people awaited Harry. Uncle Vernon was there to collect him, and was standing very uncomfortably next to Mr. Weasley. The red-haired wizard seemed to be ignoring Vernon’s increasingly abrupt responses and purpling angry face, and was trying with cheerful persistence to ask him questions about how trains worked, and patronisingly talking with theoretical discretion about how _clever_ “his people” were to manage travelling about without “you know what” to help them.

Harry thought his uncle’s attitude probably wasn’t being helped along by seeing Sirius Black standing nearby, who had been amusing himself by alternately directing cheerful grins and threatening scowls at Harry’s uncle, depending on whether Professor McGonagall was watching him or not. Their professor was standing right next to Sirius, positioned in between him and Uncle Vernon, and was regularly distracted by her duty to reassure any worried passers-by that indeed Black was a legally free man and not at all a wanted mass-murderer. Harry thought his professor stood out a bit oddly clad in a green Victorian dress with a matching beribboned lady’s hat instead of her usual robes. In contrast, Sirius’ new blue jeans, white t-shirt and black leather jacket blended in quite nicely with the mostly Muggle crowd, even if the unusual scaly pattern on the leather suggested it was made from something rarer than a cow. He still had long hair curling well past his shoulders, but it was trimmed and cared for now, and didn’t hang lankly all the way down to his elbows anymore. Long hair suited his rebellious look, in a way that it hadn’t fitted Trophonius Parkinson’s attempt to ape Muggle fashion by wearing a suit when visiting the Dursleys last year.

Uncle Vernon tried to brusquely wave Harry over to him, but the instant Sirius spotted Harry his eyes lit up, and he hurried over to greet him enthusiastically, getting in between the two of them.

“Harry! It’s so good to see you!” he said, looking like he wanted to give him a hug, but settling for grabbing his hand and shaking it excitedly. “Don’t forget you promised to visit me as soon as you can!”

“Hello Sirius,” Harry said with a smile. “It’s nice to see you. You’re looking better.”

“A combination of freedom, and home cooking!” he said with a grin. “I’ve had to feed myself, mind you. The house-elf isn’t as young as he used to be, but hasn’t gotten any better at cooking for all his years of practice. I’ve been trying to get him to focus on cleaning up a room for you, but he’s not great at that either. Don’t worry though! It will be done soon, even if I have to finish it myself.”

Harry wondered silently if maybe Sirius would mind Dobby coming to visit too – that little elf seemed to _thrive_ on doing work, as so many of them did. He worried about Dobby being stuck on his own all year at Potter Cottage.

Sirius leaned in close to whisper the next bit, “Black House is located at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Islington, London. It’s under a spell to stop people finding it or the inhabitants, so just get the Knight Bus to somewhere nearby.”

Harry had an odd tingly feeling run through him, and felt like he really _understood_ where the house was now. He’d never felt curious about its specific location before now, which seemed a little unusual now he thought about it, given how many times he’d chatted in letters with Sirius about visiting him.

Uncle Vernon bustled over with Professor McGonagall a step behind him.

“Ready to go, boy?” he asked Harry abruptly, scowling at Sirius as he passed him, who sneered back at him with a haughty expression that reminded Harry oddly of Draco.

“Yes, sir.”

“Just a moment, Potter,” said McGonagall. “We’ll just be a minute, if you wouldn’t mind, Sirius?”

Sirius took a few grudging steps away to stand with Mr. Weasley, who seemed happy enough with the company.

“Now I have both you and your uncle together, Mr. Potter, I want to remind you not to go running off this summer! Mr. Dursley, I would remind you again that Mr. Black has been found entirely innocent of the serious charges laid against him and is in fact a wiz- man of fine moral character-”

Uncle Vernon let out a sceptical scoffing noise at that. Sirius smirked.

“-but of course with the more recent breakout from Azkaban you must be wary of other Death Eaters who might mean Harry harm.”

Uncle Vernon’s piggish eyes widened in alarm, and Harry froze completely still, like a mouse who’s just realised a cat might have spotted it, and is desperately hoping something else will attract its attention away elsewhere.

“What? What’s all this then, boy? More criminals after you? You didn’t say anything about this in your letter!”

“Now we can’t be at all sure,” said McGonagall, in a vain attempt to sound soothing. “There’s no _particular_ threat against Harry! Any one of us could be just as much at risk, really. I’m simply saying you should just be cautious of strange wiz… strangers, Mr. Dursley. And Harry, do spend as much time as you can at home, and do _not_ run off this time. Send word in the normal way if you see anything suspicious, or have any concerns that may tempt you to leave the safety of the bosom of your family. No sneaking off to the Longbottoms without a word like you did at Christmas, mind!”

“What do you mean ‘the normal way’?” Uncle Vernon spat.

“Owls, of course,” she said quietly, glancing around to make sure no Muggles could overhear her. “Or the Floo.”

Uncle Vernon looked as outraged as if she’d sworn at him. “ _Normal_ way. That’s not _normal_ ,” he spluttered angrily.

“Ah, we don’t have either of those things at home,” Harry said anxiously, with a glance at his uncle. “We have an electric fire.”

“Oh, of course. And you can’t have _two_ pets,” she said, sounding apologetic. She leaned in close to whisper to him, “In an emergency then, you can use the Floo at Mrs. Figg’s.”

Harry stared at her with a blank face, shocked. She winked and smiled at him. It didn’t help. Mrs. Figg, his babysitter – who had too many cats and a house that smelled like cabbage – was a _witch_? Why wouldn’t she have ever said anything? _All those years!_

She finished up by patting him on the shoulder and saying something about writing to her, and how she was only worrying because she cared about him, but he was still stunned and barely listening, so just nodded his dazed agreement, and she left for the wizarding side of the station, quite satisfied.

“Now, what’s this about ‘two pets’?” asked his uncle suspiciously.

Luckily for Harry (and Storm, hidden and dozing the day away in Harry’s satchel) his attention was distracted by a rather dramatic meeting going on a short distance away.

“Sirius Black, we meet again,” drawled a familiar aristocratic voice rather loudly, making Harry spin around. His uncle, on the other hand, had his attention captured by Sirius’ response.

“Lucius Malfoy. Going to try and kill me again?” he said with a grin.

“That depends on how _sane_ you are today, I expect,” he replied, grip tight on his snake-topped cane, eyes not wavering from Sirius. “Are you alright there, Harry?” His voice oozed familiarity and concern, but the smug look he directed at Sirius suggested the comment was meant more as a taunt to his opponent than a wish for Harry’s good health.

“Did he say ‘Lucius Malfoy’?” asked Uncle Vernon. “Are you telling me that long-haired man in the Armani suit is that evil wizard you told me about who tried to _ruin my dinner party_?”

“Um, his son and I are good friends, he’s not so bad once you get to know him. I don’t think he actually _sent_ the house-elf, you see,” Harry babbled in rapid explanation.

“Care to test your skills again? Name the time and place,” said Sirius. The two of them started circling slowly closer like they were itching for a fight.

“Now Sirius, don’t let him get to you, there’s no need for a duel,” Mr. Weasley said to Sirius, as his wife collected their brood of children and hurried them away despite their grumbling and piping protests that they wanted to stay and watch. Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Draco peeking out from behind a station pillar to watch the fun, ignoring his mother’s tugging on his sleeve.

“Please don’t fight,” Harry pleaded. “There’s so many people here who could get hurt. And there’s really no need.”

“The pair of you nasty freaks can _both_ shove off!” Uncle Vernon bellowed loudly. “We don’t need your kind _or_ your fights here, so just go back to where you belong and leave my family alone!”

“Odious Muggle,” hissed Lucius, his hand clenching so tightly on his walking stick that his knuckles were turning white.

“One of the worst examples of his kind,” sneered Sirius thoughtlessly with a disdainful look at Uncle Vernon, earning himself a very startled, assessing glance from Lucius.

“Another time, perhaps,” said Lucius. And with a quick nod to Harry he strode off to rejoin his family, turning his back pointedly as if he held no fear of a sneak attack.

Sirius glanced with some bemusement at his opponent leaving so suddenly, before walking over to Harry and Uncle Vernon. “Sorry Harry,” Sirius said quietly. “I just couldn’t… He’s a dangerous man, you know? He was on the other side in the last war. You _shouldn’t trust him_.”

“I understand. But he hasn’t-” started Harry

“Where’s _my_ apology?” demanded Uncle Vernon. “Our kind not _worth_ apologising to, are we? Going to cause trouble and stalk off just like that other worthless man, are you? Just like you always did?”

“Yes,” Sirius said shortly, and spun on his heel to walk away too, not even looking properly at Uncle Vernon, eyes just glancing over him as if he wasn’t important – as if he wasn’t even there.

 _That’s fine for him to send my uncle to Coventry_ , thought Harry, _but now Uncle Vernon will be mad at **me**_.

“Come on, boy,” growled his uncle abruptly, storming off in the direction of the carpark.

“Yes, sir,” said Harry meekly, grabbing his trolley and trailing in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go – a short epilogue which is a bit of a teaser for the next fic in the series.
> 
> TheGhostWh0Walks – Thanks for your inspiration for the end of this chapter with Uncle Vernon.
> 
> Thank yous and choc chip cookies for all the many lovely readers who left kudos over the past week!


	33. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has a confusing dream. It’s just a dream though… right?

**_21 st June 1994_ **

Harry had an odd dream. He dreamt he was in a box, and then it opened and someone lifted him out and held him with one giant hand. They felt warm and safe, like a long-lost friend. It was hard to make out fine details as it was dark where he was, with only flaming torch light providing soft, flickering orange glow, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t anyone he recognised. It was a tremendously tall giant of a man – white, middle-aged, with long brown hair streaked with grey. He was pretty sure the stranger was a wizard, judging by the flowing black robes and matching pointed hat. Harry soon realised the man wasn’t in fact a giant at all, it was just that Harry was miniscule in size in comparison, as the long-haired wizard could hold him comfortably in the palm of one of his hands, blue eyes gazing serenely down at him from a smiling face.

Out of sight, he heard a woman’s voice ask, “Are you truly sure, my Lord?”

“Yes, I believe it is past time,” the man said thoughtfully, gazing off into the distance through gaps in the trees to the starry night sky. “I no longer need some of my old contingency plans, and this potential gift could harm him with its current enchantments. While he is not truly an ally, from what I’ve learned through our correspondence, and additionally from the reports that my loyal followers have brought me, the boy shows a great deal of promise. It would be blood treason to cut that life short – his magic is exemplary, his faith strong, his mind cunning, and his philosophical beliefs are developing slowly in a most appropriate direction. In addition to which his being a Parselmouth and his recognised claim to my title demonstrates a possible family connection, however distant and tainted by the ignoble blood of generations of Muggles. As I can no longer sire a child of my own blood, I could not ask for a better Heir, even had he been raised by one of my own followers. I shall even adopt him in due course if he is willing, in the finest traditions of the Emperors.”

He turned around the face the woman, and her wild dark hair and sunken cheeks were unmistakable even in the flickering light – Harry recognised her from the articles in the _Daily Prophet_. It was Bellatrix Lestrange. And if this was her _lord_ … that made this stranger Lord Voldemort?! And they were talking about him! He tried to get away, to yell – do _something_ – but was unable to move an inch or make even the slightest noise. He couldn’t even feel his body… wasn’t even completely sure he _had_ a real body right now. He couldn’t see any hands, or feel his legs, or anything at all, really.

“But my Lord, the prophecy…” she said hesitantly, looking worried.

“I know,” he said, reassuringly. “We worried about it greatly once, did we not? Yet it speaks only of the _potential_ to defeat me. It speaks of the ‘power to vanquish’, but power need not be used, Bella. And after all, there is also the distinct possibly that it was fulfilled years ago. It is perhaps a more likely interpretation than the woman having enough power to predict events more than a decade away in the future. Prophecies are notoriously difficult to interpret, and the accuracy of those foretelling the far future even more unreliable.”

She curtseyed apologetically to him. “Forgive my weakness, I merely fear for you, my Lord-”

He walked over to her, and Harry’s view was obscured as the hand closed completely around him leaving him enclosed in warm darkness. However, he could still hear the two talking together.

“-Shh. Fear not, I understand your concerns. I have oft warred within myself about what should be his fate. He is angry now he knows the truth. And how could he forgive the harm I have done his House? He knows little of the harm his parents and their Order wreaked upon our Circle, and cannot truly understand how the prophecy and my madness drove me to desperate measures. Yet I shall err on the side of hope this time, rather than fear. We will obtain that prophecy in full, by fair means or foul, and I will make no final decision until I hear it. But until that time, and unless Harold Potter openly and honestly declares himself my enemy, the boy shall be considered under my patronage and I shall brook no moves to harm him, even though he is not yet one of our Circle.”

“And now, if you will excuse me, I have various curses and enchantments to remove from this ring. For alas what once seemed a powerful choice now strikes me only as a point of weakness. A secret contingency known about by many, many others is stripped of all its cunning. When you think of both that horrendous excuse for a book that the idiot in the dungeons wrote, combined with the gift Pettigrew brought me, you can clearly see this plan is much more widely known of than I would like, or it easily may be as soon as that old fool cares to discuss the matter with his Order.

“Return to the manor, Bella. Ensure our Healer is ready to tend to me, for part of this ritual may be injurious to my current body.”

As the man’s hand opened again Harry glimpsed Lestrange looking a little confused, but she curtseyed obediently before walking from the clearing off into the trees. The world span about him as the wizard laid Harry down on a large rough slab of stone, and drew out a shining gold knife which glinted with the reflection of flames. A briefly terrifying moment of anticipation brought no harm to Harry, for there was merely a pained hiss and a muttering of an incantation in an unknown guttural language from the wizard as he cut his own left wrist. Then the world turned red as if Harry was suddenly viewing the world from the bottom of a pool of raspberry cordial. As the wizard waved his wand at Harry and a blast of orange sparks hit his field of vision, the world went black around him.

-000-

When he awoke, Harry’s mind retained little of the dream – just fragments that faded fast. Something about the Dark Lord possessing someone new, and wanting to be friends with Harry. And Lestrange was in his dream too… had she been wanting to adopt him? But he was very tiny? Then there was a spell cast at him, with pain like a knife cutting at the scar on his forehead?

It was a disturbing dream, and he pushed it from his mind as best he could, finding most of the details were fading fast. Still feeling groggy, he took a Nurofen tablet and a glass of water for his pounding headache, and made a mental note to buy more books about healing magic and research good potion alternatives to painkillers. He didn’t want to worry over a nightmare, for he had bigger problems to deal with like needing to placate the Dursleys, and his upcoming IGCSE exams. Perhaps once he’d escaped Privet Drive for a friendlier locale he’d finally be able to really enjoy his holiday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my regular helpers who assist me in polishing up my story: my Britpicker Jennybeth98 who reads over every chapter and is on call to answer my questions about all things British, Ainulinde who’s my cultural sensitivity reader for scenes with Anthony Goldstein, Stefan Bathory who betas my scenes that have to do with France and history, My blue rose who corrects my dodgy Latin, and my reader Kitty who stops by every chapter to alert me to any typos she spots that I somehow missed.  
> Thank you also to all my wonderful readers who leave me reviews, both short and long, praise-filled and constructively critical. Your support has been both greatly appreciated and inspiring. I thank you for helping motivate me to write, and for your suggestions that prompt me to tweak my story with little improvements along the way.  
> Now is a great time to post a review with comments about what you particularly loved in the series, or suggestions about things you’d love to see happen in Harry’s 4th year as the Triwizard Tournament comes to Hogwarts! I’ve got a lot of events already plotted out, but there’s certainly plenty of room for incorporating new ideas that fit into the planned storyline. Please understand that of course I won’t be able to use all your ideas, and in many cases I won’t respond in detail so that I don’t give away key plot elements that are planned for the next fic. Spoilers, sweeties!  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading or re-reading! As of late June '18, the first draft of the fifth story in this series is now complete, and is currently being thoroughly edited prior to posting. You can expect the next fic, "Extraordinary Summer", to begin being posted in July 2018. It will then be uploaded at a rate of one chapter per week on Tuesday mornings.
> 
> Please subscribe to the series as a whole (rather than this individual fic) to be sure to not miss out on updates about the next story. I also post updates about new stories and my writing progress on my Goodreads blog ("Brilliant Lady").


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